


I had to, John.

by Thirteen_Winter_Vixens



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 15:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2697782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thirteen_Winter_Vixens/pseuds/Thirteen_Winter_Vixens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three years since Sherlock 'died', now he's back. John and Sherlock have to adjust to the changes in both their lives. They depend on one another, they always had, but is that part of their lives over now? One incident will lead both men to admitting what everyone else knew from the beginning. They might need each other too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I had to

**Author's Note:**

> This story as well as To Have a Heart was posted on Fanfiction as well. I am moving my stories to this site. Sherlock belongs to BBC and I own nothing. Also, this (like most of my stories) have explicit sexual content between two men so if you don't like, don't read. Otherwise, enjoy!

John huffed as he tried to open the door to 221B Baker Street and not drop the groceries he was carrying. Suddenly, the door opened and Mrs. Hudson was smiling at him. “Hello John, just going out for a cuppa. Do you want some help?” “No thanks Mrs. Hudson I'm fine, have a good time.” She practically giggled as she said, “Thanks dear.”  Since Sherlock had correctly deduced and stated that Mrs. Hudson had met someone new, she made no attempt to hide how happy she felt. Truth was, John felt guilty not knowing about her new love interest. Unlike Sherlock, John did not see the changes in Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock had noticed right away, the moment Mrs. Hudson had walked in the room to find Sherlock on the ground nursing a bruised cheek. Sherlock quickly switched from looking hurt and shocked at John to tilting his head at the landlady and asking, “Oh, Mrs. Hudson who's the man you're having breakfast with now? I take it the date went well then,” poor Mrs. Hudson fainted.

John sighed. Three years ago, Sherlock jumped off a building to fake his own death and John sunk into a deep depression. After that, coming to Baker Street had been on the bottom of his to do list. When Sherlock had returned, the doctor hadn't taken his, “Oh hey John, yes I'm alive and I'm glad to see you too. I have a case, want to join?” very well. Or at least, that's how he remembered it, though Sherlock had a different memory of that day. That was almost two months ago and things weren't yet back to normal, not quite at least. The first thing that Sherlock had to come to terms with was that John no longer lived at Baker Street. No, now he lived with Mary, his committed and long term girlfriend. At least eight months felt very long-term to John. When Sherlock came home John alternated between feeling distraught at the idea Sherlock could make him believe he was dead, and furious that he had actually did so. He couldn't help but find his way back to the man eventually, especially after the way the man was acting. Sherlock, he had admitted was his addiction during those lonely months. Sherlock had his cases and John had him.

“There you are. Pass me my phone, please.” Sherlock said currently without looking up from his experiment on the kitchen table. John shook his head as he walked in, he had finally gotten Sherlock to ask and sometimes, though rare, he would actually say thank you but it always came out as a order anyway. John first went to the counter, his rare free space that always made him smile. Even though he no longer lived here, he was beginning to spend more time here everyday. He got out six loafs of bread, Sherlock's experiment had something to do with crumbs and he had gone through twenty loafs of bread in less than twenty four hours. It was the first time he had seen Sherlock go out to the shop. John stepped up to the brilliant git and reached in his front pocket on his shirt and shoved the phone into his hand. “Honestly Sherlock how did you survive without me?” Sherlock glanced up, his expression was one of intensity and John instinctively tensed and stood straighter. Sherlock replied quietly, “Very badly.” John couldn't stop his lips from twitching and Sherlock gave a slight smile in return.

He made them tea and they had a nice lunch, Sherlock ate a single bite before getting distracted by something on his computer, then John's pager went off. Sherlock gave a dramatic sigh, “It's the hospital. Most-likely serious.” John nodded his head as he confirmed the number. “I should go. I'll see you later, yeah?” Sherlock nodded. This was the second thing Sherlock had to get used to. John wasn't working at Bart's or in fact any clinic. The hospital where John worked now, St. Clara's, was one of the best in the city, it was also closer to his and Mary's apartment. There he was a real surgeon again, after Sherlock jumped and the world didn't end, he found himself alone again. His therapist, in another attempt at getting him to live again, had suggested he needed more excitement. More supervised excitement would be more exact. It had taken three months to get back into it, his mentors helping greatly. So he had traded his clinic duties to being a trauma surgeon once again and after nine months of being supervised he was now officially qualified once more. It was his speciality and he took great pride in being one of the most sought after, just a year of truly showing what he was capable of, not to mention his paychecks were much more satisfactory.

“Doctor Watson, we have a bus crash. Twenty eight patients, you might want to take a look at this.” The nurse Emma rushed him into a closed off room the moment he entered the ER and he couldn't help but take a deep breath. “From what we could piece together, she fell through one of the windows and then a shard of metal flew at her.” The girl had to be only eighteen at most, blood was everywhere and John knew why the nurse was speaking in low tones and why she was putting, 'shard of metal' lightly. The girl was panicked and most importantly she was fucking awake, awake with a huge scrape of twisted car metal going straight through her abdomen that, thankfully, she couldn't see since her neck was in a brace and she couldn't look down. A broken arm, twisted leg and a head wound were her other noticeable injuries. Only taking a second to gather information, John immediately jumped in and said, “Listen to me, listen.” His army training was becoming more important than ever in the hospital, his tone calm but firm. “Tell me your name sweetheart.” The girl, he saw, had bright blue eyes which now were glazed over. But she responded and said, “A...Amy White. I was supposed...to be at graduation today.” She started to cry and John nodded not talking until he had her full attention, it only took a second. “My name is John Watson and you are not going to die today, you hear me. You're not in that bad of shape, you'll be up and walking in just a few weeks.” She tried to laugh but he stopped her, knowing she was on the verge of hysteria. He needed to keep her body still. “Now,” he looked at all the doctors and nurses and nodded to them, “Lets get started.” He knew smiling right now would seem off, he blamed it on Sherlock and loving the thrill of it all. He couldn't help it.

He grinned.

It was almost midnight when John got a cab, he was about to say five thirty-six Elgin Ave when he said, “Two two one B Baker Street.” Mary was going to hate him tomorrow, she worked as a doctor at his hospital but they rarely worked together as she worked in a different ward. She had work at seven am tomorrow but he couldn't help but check on Sherlock just to see if he was firing bullets into the wall again or make sure he wasn't giving Mrs. Hudson hell.

Sherlock's head snapped up for a second as he heard the front door open, as the footsteps sounded he relaxed letting his heart slow down. The foot falls of John had been memorized long ago. His gaze flickered to the clock, _here at midnight, doesn't want to go home, problems with girlfriend, no can't be_. His mind ran through a few possibilities until they slowed on, _bored? Needs a case? No. Checking up on him? Check_. He flicked through the websites he was reading and waited for John to come through the door. “Jesus, Sherlock what is that bloody smell?” John's nose was crinkled and he immediately went to the kitchen that was labelled as the laboratory room. “It's an experiment.” Sherlock stated the obviously was left unsaid as John opened the fridge finding decomposing body parts. He shut the fridge slowly and walked over to where Sherlock was laying on the couch, his hands in his signature praying pose. Sherlock ignored him but when John wouldn't stop looming he made a point of sighing loudly and slowly turned his head. “Yes John?” “You,” John said slowly with every word pronounced, his tone on the verge of furious but not quite making it, “will get rid of those arms and the leg tomorrow. Do you hear me Sherlock?” It took a good five minutes for Sherlock to nod, he had after all gotten his information already. But mostly it gave him a strange feeling in his chest, he was of course happy to hear John tell him off. It was the best part of being back, not John telling Sherlock off, but of John being there.

John, his John alive, safe and perfect. He was thrilled to know that John still believed him, always believed in him. But it had been a bleak reality in those three years without his best friend. He had spent many weeks calling his name only to realized he wasn't there. “How did the day go?” Sherlock asked, although, he didn't really know why, he merely wanted John to stay longer. John smiled at him and shook his head. “You tell me.” Sitting down in 'his' chair John sat back and Sherlock got up to sit in his chair opposite, his eyes roaming over the older man. “You saved someone today. Badly injured, possibly would have died, you're very proud. Hectic, many patients, crash then. Car, no, bus, yes. A bus crashed most likely into another car. Twenty or so needing medical assistance. Did all of them make it?” John frowned slightly, “No, not all. Two died, too severe brain damage. Four are in ICU recovering and two lapsed into a coma this evening, one of which I seriously doubt will come out of it. But the others seem like they will recover quick enough. My own patient will take some time to fully recover. A year though and she'll be perfect.” Sherlock nodded, “Of course, you are an excellent doctor John. You always have been.” John smiled shyly feeling a little embarrassed from the compliment but very proud indeed. “Sherlock,” Sherlock looked at John waiting for him to speak, after a few moments he couldn't help but say, “Spit it out John.” John shook his head and said, “I've missed you.”

That surprised Sherlock whose brows raised slightly and he nodded, Sherlock was about to speak when his phone pinged. He jumped up and read the text with blazing eyes. Sherlock's name had been cleared fifteen months after his death, thanks to Lestrade and a few journalists that knew some facts didn't fit together so perfectly, John had done an official interview and pressed Sherlock's innocence. When Sherlock came back to life two months ago, a very short interview had taken place where he ended up insulting everyone and then everyone knew that, yes, he was indeed a genius, an arrogant one, but still. Just a week after the court case John had forced him into to state, yes, Sherlock bloody Holmes was alive and needed proper identification to prove it, Sherlock was off on a case. Sherlock's fame had exploded for a time but at this point, John thought happily, it had receded back to the level of minor celebrity. Though it truly did nothing for the questions that were commonly asked, like the one about them being together.

“John, a politician was murdered, looks like a hit man. Want to join?” Sherlock glanced up already putting on his jacket, a moment of hesitation, before John reacted instinctively. “Oh...yes.” Sherlock couldn't stop himself from beaming at him which only made John grin back. They were out the door seconds later and hailing a cab. John didn't go home that night, the chase was just as thrilling and suspenseful as he remembered. It made his heart race as he ran after Sherlock. By the time dawn came, Sherlock had pinpointed where the assassin was, and by mid-morning they were in the cab home promising Lestrade to give their reports later, the convict now in cuffs and supporting a rather broken nose. Sherlock was grinning and asking John if he'd like to have breakfast. Knowing Sherlock as he did, he knew if he declined Sherlock wouldn't eat. He nodded and they ended up in a little restaurant having an egg breakfast. “God, I forgot how good it felt to be chasing you around.” Sherlock grinned at his statement, “Well you could always quit your job and join me again. Bart's will definitely take you back.” John rolled his eyes, “Sherlock, you are the most madding, insufferable, git alive. I would be absolutely insane to do any of that.” Sherlock looked slightly hopeful as he asked, “So will you?” Before John could say 'of course not' Sherlock's phone buzzed, looking at it he frowned and John knew it was Mycroft. “The Queen is having a problem today, he'll be contacting me later with details. Shall we head home?” John felt his lips twitch at the nickname for Mycroft and then frowned.

He still had not forgiven the older Holmes and he always ignored the brightening of Sherlock's eyes when he noticed it. “Sherlock, I have to go to my home-” “You have to go to the gym, and I have equipment at Baker Street and a change of clothes that are yours. Besides, Mary is at work already, she wont miss you.” John clenched his jaw, Mary had definitely missed him, but Sherlock was right, he did need to go to the gym. It was another thing that his therapist had suggested. Exercise, movement, working out. John needed a schedule, a routine, so he worked out four times a week, a hour and a half each time. Though, when he was stressed it did lengthen to three hours. Because of this suggestion and the fact that for the first year he enjoyed the exhaustion, enjoyed the pain; he could actually sleep without nightmares, John was more toned than he was three years ago, hell, more toned than he was five years ago. In fact, he was much more sought after too. Another reason why he didn't mind this particular suggestion from the shrink.

Sherlock was already standing and John sighed giving up. True to his word, John found a weight machine in apartment C, an elliptical, and a pull up bar that could be latched onto the doorway. An old couch had been pushed against the wall that didn't hold overflowing books which Sherlock flopped down in, his computer in his lap. John set the weights and sat down pulling the lever asking, “How did you convince Mrs. Hudson to turn this into a little gym?” Sherlock shrugged, “No one was renting it for ages and Mycroft owed me a favour.” John nodded, knowing that Sherlock meant that Mycroft paid Mrs. Hudson more and that indeed it was a favour for John and not Sherlock. He didn't quite know what to say to that so he asked, “So what kind of case is Mycroft trying to get you on to?” Sherlock didn't glance up but replied in a bored tone, “The Russian mob has managed to squeeze itself into some fraction of the government,” Sherlock was now was texting, “Boring.” John was starting to feel the burn in his arms as Sherlock looked up at him and continued, “Although, it could get interesting if we catch Mitch Borcov.” John gave his 'I have no idea what your talking about' face and Sherlock sighed. “Half British, half Russian hit man, mobster. He is incredibly slippery.” He stared at Sherlock and asked, “You two know each other?” Sherlock's reply was to give a slightly insane and very predatory smile. John shook his head, “Of course you do. Why do I bother asking?” “I have no idea and yet you continue to do so.” They both chuckled.

Four hours later John was not laughing, he was instead feeling incredibly tired and frustrated. “I just don't understand it. I mean I get that he was an important person in your life, I can't take his place. But John, I need you to be my boyfriend right now, not his.” Mary said, looking put out but he had to give it to her, she was trying her best to be calm. “I just want a weekend with you. That's all, okay, I knew the moment he came back that you would be following him into whatever craziness he got into. I just...I thought that he was dead, that all of that running after criminals was over. I want you to be safe and at home having dinner with me.” John nodded, he understood truly he did. He had thought all of this was behind him and Mary had given his life back to him, he owed her. “Okay. Okay, we'll go away this Friday, both of us have three days off, let's go somewhere.” She looked surprised and soon grinned, “Really? What about your patients?” He nodded feeling relived and lighter, “Patrick knows the cases and he's being extremely kind in taking over for the weekend for me, he needs the hours lately. So yeah, what do you think about Paris?” At that, she launched into his arms and they were kissing. He pressed her against the wall and earned himself a sharp gasp. Before it could get good though her pager went off and both were reminded they were in the middle of the hallway of the hospital. Breaking apart, both breathing erratically, she smiled again and said, “Wait for me, it'll only be a short surgery, appendix. “ Then she ran off to her surgery.

“Bloody hell.”

Sherlock was pacing, he couldn't help but feel his mind bouncing back and forth. Old John, new John. Old John; reliable, dependable, open, there. Sherlock's eyes stopped on John's chair, John's empty chair. It wasn't right, he had spent three years taking down the world's most ingenious, intricate criminal spider-web of a network to save John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, to save himself and he returned to not have anything the same. Sure John was here more often each day, but it was merely to check up on him. Sherlock abruptly stopped as a question filtered through his mind. What do you want from him?

He narrowed his eyes, what did he want from John? The answers started listing themselves. To be here with him. Yes. To return to his, their, work. Yes. Sherlock had to admit working with John was much more interesting and of course he could always use back up. John was in even more shape then he used to be, his stamina incredible. Sherlock had spent three years running and fighting, he himself was in great shape, though he still needed to gain some weight which everyone kept badgering him about and John could keep right up with him, three years ago he wouldn't have. Then suddenly, Sherlock for only the third time in his life drew up blank. Was that it? His mind jumped to Old John, then to New John. Wary, hesitant, intense. Sherlock felt something in his chest before a shiver rolled down his spine. His mind flashing images of John, John starring at him as if seeing a ghost, another time as if trying to memorize his face, his hands shaking lifting to touch his cheek, his eyes wide and looking so utterly relieved and horrified at the same time. John's eyes pleading with him not to jump.

Sherlock's hands pulled at his hair and he couldn't stop the painful yell form bursting forth. “Sherlock? Are you alright?” Sherlock snapped up and turned to see John frowning in the doorway, bags of take-out in hand. Then Sherlock's brain went against him categorizing. Rumpled shirt, dishevelled hair, pink mark on collar bone, new shoes, recently out at shop, going away, they had-. Immediately, Sherlock felt a wave of anger that had him in front of John in seconds. John pressed against the wall looking alarmed as Sherlock loomed over him, “Sherlock what-” “No! No! Absolutely not John! I forbid it. Do you hear me, I forbid you!” He hissed. “Sherlock what the bloody hell are you talking ab-?” “Your going to ask her to marry you!” John looked shocked, his face flushed. “Sher-” “No! You don't want to marry Michelle-” “Mary, her name is Mar-” “Oh for god's sake John, why would you even consider-”

“I'm not!”

Sherlock froze and John glared at the taller man. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, John said slowly but firmly, “I am not going to propose Sherlock. She's just upset we haven't been spending time together as we used to. I'm taking her to Paris for the weekend, a little vacation for us.” Sherlock's breathing evened out and then both men realized how close they were pressed against each other. John shifted, their bodies rubbing against one another, he looked up with a peeved expression, his cheeks slightly more pink than usual. “Do you mind moving?” Sherlock took a moment to get back to normal, he wasn't used to feeling someone so close, John's body heat distracted him, he nodded and both moved to sit down on the couch. John sighed and said, “I booked the tickets. I'll be gone Friday morning and back Monday morning. So try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone okay?” Sherlock smiled, “Wouldn't dream of it.” John just rolled his eyes at that and got their dinner ready.

“I do have a favour to ask of you though," Sherlock started, their yelling match officially over, "Since you're leaving in two day's, I need you to accompany me to a party tomorrow night.” John nearly choked on his lemon chicken, “Sherlock Holmes, The Sherlock Holmes is going to a party?” Sherlock glared at John, “It's a posh charity event and Mycroft thinks that some associates of Borcov will be there. Should be entertaining if that happens.” John's brows rose but he shrugged, “Do I have a choice?” The expression on Sherlock's face told it all. No, he didn't. John was just happy Sherlock was eating without him having to nag so much.

The party was indeed posh. John felt uncomfortable in his new suit, Sherlock had insisted on buying him one, and though embarrassed, he was grateful now. He felt as if the Queen (the real Queen that is) would be walking through the doors any minute. Sherlock leaned down invading John's space and said quietly, “See that man there,” On alert, John looked up and without needing help had spotted the older man in a rather stunning blue suit. He loved this, knowing Sherlock well enough that he never needed to question a tilt of the head or a knowing glance when it came to cases, slowly John relaxed, the man couldn't be associated with the mob, surely. “He's a very powerful Senator in the US and I just so happen to know that he fancies dressing up in a rabbit costume when he wishes to engage with his fabulously flexible PA.” John's eyes had gone completely round, he looked at the older man and shifted his gaze to the person behind him and his wife. The PA; very blonde, very young, fashionable, and very, very male. He almost choked on his champagne and Sherlock smiling, patted his back. Once his airway was cleared he looked at Sherlock to see the glint in his eyes and they started laughing.

“Oh, hello. Could I get a quick Interview? Channel four.” Their laughter stopped and both turned to look at a smiling woman. John spared a glanced at Sherlock and as predicted he looked disgusted and bored his gaze travelling into the distance. John coughed and was about to make an excuse when the woman spoke, a camera emerging behind her as if by magic. “Okay, so Sherlock Holmes tell us how you solved the Redgrave Case, you were able to solve the abduction of Jeremy Kilpatrick by his umbrella? Is that true?” Sherlock sighed and went on to say how anyone could have solved it if they were just brilliant enough, if they just looked. He then went on to explain how he could deduce Jeremy's whereabouts and by the end of his little speech he made the news reporter, John, and whole of Scotland Yard look like blundering idiots as per usual. John stood to the side apologizing every time he could get a word in. Five seconds of silence after Sherlock stopped speaking, the woman composed herself and smiled again turning to John. “And Doctor Watson what a pleasure it is to meet you. Your reputation has changed in the past couple of years, you're no longer just the blogger for Mr. Holmes but also a great surgeon.” “He's always been a great surgeon.” Sherlock cut in. John smiled looking up at him. So did the reporter, “Yes, but the public has finally gotten to view your skills. You work at St. Clara's do you not?” John nodded, “Yes, I specialize in trauma cases. I work best under stress.” She laughed and said, “As a veteran I have no doubt you do. Does you experience as a solider ever come in handy when being a doctor to civilians? And what does your girlfriend think of your history with catching criminals? Should we be expecting wedding bells soon?” John tensed slightly seeing her gaze flicker between them. Sherlock was practically growling and John turned to look at him, he looked nothing but furious and John couldn't even guess what was making him angry. The reporter looked more intrigued with his personal life though, her gaze flicking between him and Sherlock, great. “Um...a lot of questions. Well yes I would say my experience in battle does help, I've seen a lot while in the front lines and it is extremely valuable-” “John.”

Sherlock's voice cut him off and within seconds both were running, John after Sherlock and Sherlock through the marble ballroom and into the halls. They slowed down, now in front of staff and a few wandering guests. “Sherlock who did you see?” John asked quietly, his eyes on the waiters and exits. “Two men, brown hair, very tall, their gazes were too sharp, stood out too much. It's them.” John nodded and they went out some doors and found themselves in a garden. Here, there were more guests and staff, this ball had to have all of London society at it, it was huge, taking place just outside of the city, in an overly-large manor with marble and statues that had to be over three hundred years old that Sherlock had seemed unimpressed by. “I know they went this way, stay close, I don't want us to separate or be seen by them. That interview never should have happened, let's just hope that she wont brag about it until tomorrow morning.” They were stopped once more by an old client of Sherlock's a financial business man and his wife. John pulled Sherlock away once his wife asked, not to tactfully, whether they were were getting engaged anytime soon and if he had left his girlfriend yet. “Honestly John I can't control what every-” Both stopped as they reentered the castle and John saw exactly what Sherlock meant. The two men were waiters, and they did indeed look out of place. John could see military stamped on their foreheads. Before he knew it, he was pressed against a pillar so not to be seen. Then, before he could ask Sherlock about a plan, he felt lips descend onto his and his mind went blank. 

Sherlock went through a list of options but one stuck out and he reacted without thinking, he was too used to acting alone now. He kissed John knowing the men would pass and not even glance at them, he needed to follow them later and for that he needed not to be seen. He just hoped John would get the message. Sherlock's hand went to John's chin to tilt his head up and make sure people walking past wouldn't see him but it also gave his mouth better access. Honestly, he didn't know why John was so bothered about his height, he wasn't that short, actually it seemed perfectly convenient now. John gasped and he took that opportunity to invade John's mouth losing himself in his taste.

It took John two seconds to respond, Sherlock pressed against him, his lips on his, tongue in his mouth, stroking. He instinctively started sucking and heard Sherlock moan quietly, surprised. Immediately John's hand found his hip and pressed hard sending the message of 'get the fuck off' or even 'what the fuck is happening'. Sherlock replied by biting his lip which John couldn't help but gasp at. Then John just reacted, which was not his fault, it was entirely Sherlock's. Sherlock felt his heart pick up when John deepened the kiss, he was going on instinct, Sherlock reasoned but it didn't stop him from feeling lust shoot up his body. He hadn't felt this way since university. They were pressed so completely he could feel all of John's body, could feel the tension in his hands as he clutched at him and Sherlock could feel himself heat up, could feel himself descending into a certain state of complete arousal, he wanted more. More John. More. John. John tasted of champagne and strawberries and something that was just John, he smelt even better, his usual cologne and shampoo, fresh, light, almost floral but heavier, muskier, just John. He was dominate and forceful, the kiss itself bruising and Sherlock's hands wandered from John's shoulders to his hair first feeling the soft texture then having to grab it, tugging harder than was polite. He was pleasantly surprised when John moaned deep and practically growled. Sherlock's heart was pounding now, he could feel his body burning and he felt John's hands move across his back, leaving a burning trail in their wake and he knew he would never be able to delete this; the taste, the feeling, this memory. Soon all he could think of was John. His John. John.

John was lost in lust, he felt more turned on than he had in forever. Sherlock was so fucking responsive, his little mews of pleasure shot down John's spine to go straight to his cock, Sherlock's hand stayed in his hair just like he liked it, while the other moved everywhere. And John was finding out more about his best friend, like the fact that his neck was bloody sensitive, proof being every time he brushed against it he got a little gasp or Sherlock bucked against him, he certainly wasn't a virgin, no virgin did things that incredible with their tongues. He couldn't help but picture those lips on his cock, sucking, those eyes deep and heavy staring up at him. Fuck. Sherlock on his knees. Fuck. John bucked against him, trying to get more pressure, wanting more. They were so intertwined it was amazing they were two separate people. Sherlock moaned again, deep and gravelly, then his hand wandered down his chest and it made John shudder. He always thought Sherlock would be cold almost statue-like, or even hesitant or something like that. Instead, Sherlock was fire, smouldering, his lips were softer than imaginable, his hands roaming, exploring, burning hot, and John had no doubt he was categorizing every little detail. God, John thought, he'd be bloody fantastic in bed. He'd know everything, every little spot to send him to pieces. Sherlock practically melted into him, they were closer then John could even imagine being to someone. John gasped again when Sherlock broke away to finally-dammit-breathe and he moved to bite against his neck, right where Sherlock was sensitive. Sherlock moaned, making John grin in victory and he started sucking hard against the creamy flawless skin, tilting his head to give him more room. He loved the taste of him, the pulse point under his tongue was hammering, he bit hard hearing Sherlock moan again and he found out Sherlock absolutely loved his arse getting squeezed. When John did grab Sherlock's ass, Sherlock moaned his name loudly and immediately ground against him, his leg in between John's and John could feel Sherlock's cock on his stomach. It was then that bells finally went off and John snapped back, his arms shoving Sherlock away instinctively.

Sherlock not expecting it fell back and John watched as Sherlock fell to the floor. Both were panting, both wide eyed. It took a good ten seconds for them to snap out of their lust filled haze. “What the fuck Sherlock?” Sherlock's eyes darted about and he took a deep breath and stood straightening his suit. John tried not to notice that Sherlock's breath and hands were shaky. It took Sherlock considerably less time to compose himself, though his cheeks had a tinge to them that John did not want to think about. “They're gone. Good. Come along John.” Sherlock's voice was a notch deeper than usual and had no effect on coxing John's cock to soften. He was about to yell, but then he realized why Sherlock's voice was so tense. They had not been seen by the Russian mob, no. They had been seen by a good amount of passers-by though. Several of which were flushed and grinning at him at that very moment.

Bugger it all.


	2. Oh, Crap.

John was in a horrible mood. Horrible. He couldn't believe Sherlock had done that and his excuse:

He had to.

They had to endure two more hours of smiles and knowing looks and John had never, not once; even in the years that he knew Sherlock, felt this humiliated. They had only been able to leave when the party ended and they were able to follow the two men; now in a cab heading back to London. “John, you need to relax. Once we catch these rats Lestrade will interrogate him and we'll have our man. I'll catch him and bring the London section mob crashing to a halt. Of course, they can't be truly stopped, too large. Take one fraction down, another pops up. At least I can get Borcov.” John nodded stiffly, still angry. “You do realize there were news people there, right. You do realize this could-” John shouted, realizing for the first time the whole situation, “Jesus, Sherlock! This could be in the tabloids, that reporter was there. Oh god Mary! What is she going to think, and here I've been spending nights out with you. God, this couldn't get any worse.”

Sherlock huffed and couldn't help but say, in a haughty voice, “And yet you seemed to enjoy yourself pretty well.” John looked at him horrified and said, “Sherlock, what happened-It's not going to happen ever again. Ever. Again. It was a complete and utter mistake and we're mates. We're best mates.” Sherlock looked at him then and nodded looking slightly more open and apologetic, as he said, “Of course John. I never meant to belittle our friendship or, indeed, endanger it at all. That you would believe-” “I know. I know. Just... just don't do that again, okay?” Sherlock was stoic and he nodded, “Of course John. It was the only choice I had, and I'm sure once I explain it to Mary she will understand. I couldn't even warn you, they were within earshot, it was actually incredible that we weren't spotted, although, I happen to think the attention was actually good in this case. We had many crowds of gossips surrounding us-” At John's expression, Sherlock explained and cut him off before more yelling could start.

“But we were not surrounded by the politicians and most importantly, Mycroft kept them engaged. Did you notice? No of course you didn't. Those two men didn't concern themselves with the two blokes who snogged, or indeed any number of scandals that went on. They positioned themselves near Mycroft, I could see him glaring at them, but because his bosses were there he wouldn't want to speak out.” John now looked confused, “First, what other scandals and second his boss was there? Who is it?” Sherlock gave him a look which John knew he was being stupid. “There were seven scandals that happened all within the first hour and half, twelve throughout the night. Secondly, I said bosses not boss and yes they were there. Very discreet.” John just shook his head and sighed, trying in vain to put that party out of his mind.

They ended up at a warehouse district laying on a fire escape beside a window listening to the men inside. From what John could make out there were only three important people placed in the government. One of them had messed up and an argument was taking place. The two waiters were giving information on Mycroft. John glanced at Sherlock to see him roll his eyes. “Come on. I've got a plan.” John followed Sherlock but truthfully if he'd known the plan he probably would have said he was going home.

Scratch that.

He would have gone home.

 

 

* * *

 

“God, you lot really are dull, aren't you?”

“Sherlock! For once in your life could you shut up!” John snapped, he really did not like the fact that a gun was pointing to his head at that moment and Sherlock was doing everything in his power to get them shot. “Should we leave you two alone? A little domestic spat going on?” Borcov smirked and Sherlock rolled his eyes again and replied sarcastically, “Please, Borcov, our domestic spats, as you put it, involves John decking me at some point." A pause. "And then tea.” A few chuckles sounded as Borcov slammed his gun across Sherlock's face. John instinctively moved forward.

“Don't even think about it pet.” John tensed at that nickname but stayed still. “Why?” Sherlock asked looking intense. Borcov turned his attention to him. “Why would you send your sister to New York after shipping that cargo and then-Oh. Oh, of course.” Borcov grinned, “Figured it out, have ya?” Now, Sherlock looked put out as he said, “Well how boring.”

John just looked confused, “What?”

“Terrorism. Borcov's father here taught him well. He has connections, not as many as Moriarty, but enough. Worked your way up in the world. Thought you got a following. Nineteen-ninety-nine, fifteen hundred die in a sabotaged plane crash in Moscow. Two-thousand-and-two, three thousand and forty-three people die in a bombing in Madrid. Two-thousand-and-five, you joined with some fraction of the Taliban for awhile. Got some more experience I suppose." Finally, Sherlock got to the point, glancing towards a frustrated looking John, he continued, "He's shipping a bomb to New York city as we speak, it'll be there in an hour and half.” John's heart skipped at that sentence. “Large one too. Half of the city will be destroyed and your scarifying your sister as a scapegoat. How dull.” “There's no room for family in my occupation. You should know that; emotions are only weaknesses ready to be exploited. So, any last words before you become truly dead?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that night, “Learn what shampoo is or for that matter, breath mints, I think you would benefit from them. Greatly.” Borcov nodded at the two other men who were holding Glock 17's to the back of their heads. John's hand twitched wanting his Sig Sauer back again, he eyed the man behind Sherlock with disdain, he could just make out the outline of his gun at the bloke's waistband.

Borcov was just leaving when, suddenly, right before John was expecting to hear the blast of the guns, heart pounding, a real blast went off next door throwing all the men to the ground. With his ears ringing, John was the first one up and immediately went for the man closest to him, he slammed into him and threw a punch hard enough to hear something crack. Sherlock was disarming the other bodyguard just as another man came running up behind him. John grabbed the gun from the unconscious mobster and took aim. A cry sounded and the gun went off. Sherlock looked up from where his opponents fell and looked to the entrance of the warehouse where Borcov had run to. He nodded and said, “Nice shot John.” “Thanks. Thought so myself.” Sherlock grinned and John couldn't help but grin back.

The police and firemen took no time at all getting there. John stood and slightly admired the sight of the building burning. It was massive and he knew it contained a good amount of money and military weapons but the real catch was untouched building they stood in front of. Sherlock had already handcuffed everyone and John ignored the fact that he stepped on Borcov's wound, a shot that had taken out his left knee, before securing it so he wouldn't bleed out.

John gave his statement on scene as the ambulance took Borcov to the hospital before going to prison, as a jail wasn't enough security over him. They were informed by Donovan that there was enough evidence for the wanker to go away for life. The bomb that was being delivered to New York, however, served as everyone's prime priority. Sherlock looking bored, jumped in and said calmly, “Not to worry, it's been disarmed.” John turned towards him so fast he thought he heard a crack from his neck. “What?” John had been going slightly crazy since Sherlock had mentioned a bomb over an hour ago, though, that was when they were sneaking into the warehouse and it had been, as only Sherlock bloody Holmes could do, in passing. “Yes, I had to figure out if it was remotely triggered or if it had an electronic timer. It was entirely easy, I did it on my mobile. Oh, and speaking of New York you should send word to pick up Miss. Anya Borcov. She knows more about her brother's crimes than he realizes and seeing as she is going to put one and one together and find out he was going to have her killed, well, I think she'd be only to happy to tell you everything.” Sherlock looked to John like he should be getting praised and all John could say was, “You had the bomb disarmed.”

Sherlock sighed, “You know I hate repeating myself. Yes John I did, right after Borcov proved me right.” “All this time? I was worried sick Sherlock and you just had it disarmed before we had guns pointed at us.” “Would you rather I didn't?” “Boys, just explain to me one more time how it went from having guns to your head to the building next door blowing up?” John immediately said, “Ask him.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I suppose it must have been an accident Greg. After all, we were in this building at the time.” John couldn't help his lips twitching as he tried very hard not to smile. Lestrade caught on to the Greg part and just sighed heavily. They all ignored Donovan's phone pinging.

Lestrade was just telling them they could leave and John was mentioning he had to go home and pack. He only had four hours before his plane left. It was six thirty now, London would be waking up. It was only when Donovan gasped that anyone gave her any attention and her eyes lighting up made John feel a little queasy. “We should get going.” John said turning to Sherlock who nodded his eyes fixed on Lestrade who looked over Donovan's shoulder, his eyes too, widened. “What is it?” Sherlock asked impatient, and edgy. Everyone knew he hated not knowing something that someone else knew. Then he said, “Never mind. Not important.” John just smiled, knowing that whatever Donovan thought was important obviously wasn't.

Lestrade was the one who shook his head and John knew, knew, what it was when their eyes met. John's eyes shut and all he could manage was a hushed, “Bloody hell,” before Donovan said, “Well now Freak, seems like someone fancies you. So John, here you had everyone convinced of your straight-line sexuality and you've been buggering up to the psychopath all this time.” She turned her gleeful gaze to Sherlock and grinned, “Tell me, how was your first kiss Sherlock? Did you feel anything, or are you completely void of emotion?” Before Lestrade could interrupt she shoved the phone in their faces and grinned.

The question had been a stupid one, anyone looking at it could clearly see the two men, Sherlock well included, had felt more than something. John immediately tensed seeing the image in front of him and he felt Sherlock do the same. “Sally that's enough. Go clear the crowd now.” Lestrade said firmly and then turned to the two men as she walked off. “Well,” he coughed looking uncomfortable and John nodded trying not to look so embarrassed and failing. “Right. Okay, so you two were headed home right?” Sherlock just sighed, turned and walked off.

John followed. “How did she get that picture?” They were quiet in the cab and John could do nothing but think about Mary, if Donovan got that picture, how many more people had it? Had Mary seen it? God, it looked awful, well truthfully it looked....passionate. Desperate almost and John cringed as he thought it. “Relax John. Agonizing about it won't make it go away.” John looked at him and couldn't help but say, “How can you be so calm about this? Did you see it? We look...” Sherlock raised an elegant brow as he starred at John, “We look...like what exactly, my dear Watson?” John clenched his jaw at that endearment. Eventually he bit out, “We look...” He palmed his head and choked out, “We look like we're about to have sex right there. Bloody hell.” He could feel his face heat up and knew he had gone red. Sherlock turned his attention to the window so John couldn't see his face. He knew Sherlock couldn't deny it.

They pulled up to John's flat first. John refused for Sherlock to scurry away before he saw Mary, two streets down from his flat he had seen it. The stand across the street held tabloids, newspapers and trash magazines; all being restocked for the day and most had that bloody picture. “Oh god,” John practically whined. Sherlock immediately went for his phone and started doing god knows what, completely ignoring John, who was having an increasingly, raging panic attack. Mary was up when he got in. Up, dressed and sitting on the couch looking tired and only slightly frustrated. He always loved that she was hard to truly anger. A magazine was on the table. His stomach dropped. 

John took a deep breath but before he could start, she took a deep breath, obviously calming herself, and asked, “What is he doing here?” Sherlock straightened, his eyes glancing around the room after they had roamed over her. It was the first time he had been to their flat and John tensed knowing he was deducing everything. “Mary, it's not what it looks like.” She laughed, looking tired, “Not what it looks like? Well John Watson it looks like your snogging your colleague, your mate, the freak, the incredible Sherlock Holmes. Tell me, is that not what your doing?” John winced. “The circumstances were-” “Don't!” Mary stood pointing her finger at Sherlock and Sherlock stopped speaking. John jumped at her tone. “Don't say a word. You come back from the dead and think everything is the same, is okay, that the world should revolve around you. That John should revolve around you! He spends all his free time with you, still shops for you, you demand that he go on cases with you even though he has an incredible job as a very talented surgeon. You Mr. Sherlock Holmes are fucking selfish!”

“Mary!”

“No John! I saw you! I saw you when he was dead. I saw you when you found out you revolved around him! I was there with you, every time! When it got bad I was there; in the hospital, the graveyard-” “Mary!” John shouted more harshly.

Sherlock looked at him, his mind catching hospital and John's reaction. Why was John in the hospital? His mind flashed different conclusions as he scanned John for any injuries or scars he may have missed in the last couple of months. Nothing, nothing lasting, suddenly Sherlock wanted to know if he had any scars that he hadn't seen yet. A flicker of John naked so that he could see if there were any more came into his mind and he shook it away, John would definitely find that to be off now that this situation had come up.

“We kissed yes. But...” John stopped trying to find the words when Sherlock helped out, his voice bored and monotone. “It was necessary Miss. Morstan. Firstly, it was I that initiated it and, secondly, I only did it because we had no other option. We were following some people and they would have spotted us otherwise. It was the most logical choice. I assure you, it will not happen again.”

Mary snorted, “Does this look like you two were trying to hide it?” She showed the magazine, standing up and facing them, John winced again. That was close to where John had pushed Sherlock, at that point they weren't thinking at all about hiding. Mary continued, “No, it sure as hell won't happen again. He won't be going out with you anymore. John.” He tensed as she drew her attention to him. Her eyes softened. “You have to stop this. Your life is at the hospital, I'm not saying you have to lose Sherlock as a friend but I don't like the fact that you're pushing everything aside for him again. Pushing me aside.”

Sherlock was furious, John could tell and before he could him to shut it Sherlock bit out, “I have never demanded John join me. He does so out of his own will. It is his decision whether or not he wishes to continue, not yours.” She glared at him and spat out, “I will not have my boyfriend going into danger and following you about when he is perfectly happy.” Sherlock scoffed and loudly said, “If he were perfectly happy he wouldn't be going out with me.” John turned towards him shocked, “What? Sher-"

“Please John, you crave the excitement, you always will. It's apart of you and while you might be happy as a surgeon again, it isn't enough.” “John was perfectly fine before you showed up. He was getting over your death. He was actually living without you. But that's your problem, isn't it, Sherlock? He can live without you but you can't do the same now, can you?” That seemed to hit a nerve and John tensed knowing Sherlock was about to cut her down. Sherlock practically glided up to her, lowering his voice to something smooth and posh, yet superior and almost threatening. “You're right to be jealous. I can't possibly say for certain that it will not happen again,” John felt heat rise up in his cheeks, first in shock and then in anger and then back to disbelief. “The circumstances were unique but they could rise again,” Sherlock smiled, his eyes blazing as he said slowly, “Besides, John was very...eager.” And Sherlock completed that sentence with such suggestiveness it made John freeze and he lowered his collar showing everyone the rather large hickey John managed to give him.

John was completely mortified.

He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that he wasn't in this situation. But on some level, through his anger and embarrassment, he knew Sherlock was saying this to get under Mary's skin. And it worked. “Get the fuck out!” Sherlock turned to him and John just shook his head. He could see now that Sherlock's back was to Mary, he did look  apologetic, slightly. John was about to say something, anything when Sherlock cut him off, “No, it's fine. Goodbye John.” With that he gilded as gracefully as ever out the door. Silence.

“I'm sorry.”

He couldn't help but say it. Mary, after taking a couple breaths, sighed, she looked tired. John winced, trying to remember when they had spent a full day together. IOt had been before Sherlock. “So am I. I just,” she ran a hand through her hair and sighed, “I just don't get what holds you to him so much.” She suddenly looked vulnerable and so hurt John said, “I'm so very sorry Mary. He changed my life when I needed it to. I owe him a lot. I'm going to make this up to you. I promise.” Just like you, he didn't add it but both knew it was there. She smiled. When she spoke her voice was soft, it made John feel even more guilty. She smiled a little and said, “We'll talk about it later, ya? We have to get going anyway.” John couldn't help showing his surprise, “You still want me to join?” She smiled still looking partially upset but said, “You're the one who invited me and we need some time together. We'll talk and actually hang out for the first time in awhile. Come on, I've already pack your bags last night.”

When she left to the bedroom, he pulled out his phone and immediately texted; **That was not good Sherlock. And why do you always have to get all my girlfriends mad at you? She actually liked you, you know, we talked about all of us getting together just a few days ago. We'll talk Monday. Try not to get into too much trouble until then. J.W.**

Mary came back, luggage ready and asked pleasantly, “All ready then?'”

John nodded.


	3. Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for any reviews or kudos! I really appreciate them and love getting them! Enjoy!!!

Paris was beautiful and hot for mid-April. John spent the first day just talking with Mary. They found their favourite cafe, the one they visited when John needed to get out of London and after well...the incident. It always seemed like Paris was Mary's way of making everything better. A new surrounding, a fresh place to talk and to let lose. It had always worked too. John always went back to London feeling clearer and even, on occasion, safer. But this time, this time, his problem was alive waiting back in London, and very much their topic. “I just don't want to see you in shambles again.” Mary stated again and John clenched his jaw trying to hold on to his rising anger. “I do understand that. I do. But this is Sherlock and you know how much he means to me, you better than most. It's still an incredible relief that I can go to Baker Street and see him. He's not a ghost or a figment of a memory, he is alive and here and I guess I just lost myself in that fact.” Mary was nodding but frowning. “I just want you to remember what happened last time.” John looked away, angry and guilty, Mary put her hand on his and said calmly, “I know you're not interested in him that way but if my attention was on someone else, you have to admit you would be jealous. Even just a bit.” John smiled at her, knowing it was true, and said, “It's late. Wanna call it a night then?” Mary grinned and both of them relaxed.

Their hotel was nice, not expensive or lavish but quaint and full of French flair. Mary loved it. Their room wasn't too small and felt open and airy with tall ceilings that made it look bigger. As soon as the door closed, Mary wrapped her arms around him and grinned. “Well my love, I've finally got you alone.” Her voice took on a joking but seductive manner. John tried not to grimace, truthfully, he was knackered, he hadn't slept in thirty eight hours and wasn't really in the mood, since the whole scandal of 'The Photo' came out, it had even reached here due to the atrocities of gossip web browsing and trash magazines. But Mary was slowly undressing him, looking extremely beautiful. How he had landed her, he truly did not know. Blonde, green eyed, five years his younger and legs forever, she was without a doubt the most beautiful, patient and understanding woman he had ever dated. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, losing himself in her warmth.

 

 

* * *

 

The dream started off bad. He knew because he was in the graveyard. Sobbing. His throat closed off, his leg gave out, the pain worse than ever before. The name blurred, and John was begging, pleading for Sherlock to come back. And then it changed and he was laying down facing the stars. Or what would have been, he couldn't see them and with a bottle of vodka empty at his side he really wouldn't have anyway even if it hadn't been cloudy. He liked the dark, liked seeing nothing, Sherlock wasn't seeing anything, so what did it matter?

Suddenly, he was running, running towards a different man. He was running across foreign fields, bright green and wild. All the time thinking, please, please. Bombs went off and his crew were yelling at him. Something about orders, something about a trap. But they didn't know, couldn't know. He couldn't let him die in this stupid, useless, terrifying war.

He was in London, his first time to the big city. He felt different, felt older than seemly possible. People walked around him and he felt more alone than he had in weeks. He assured himself it would be okay but he saw it laid out before him and he was running again, racing, this time to get as far away as possible.

And there, another man, a boy really, who was standing in front of him, this time in a barren, sandy wasteland. He was laughing at a joke he made, his eyes alive and sparkling with youth and naivety and in a flash John was running again towards him, running knowing even as he ran he wouldn't find anything larger than his severed leg that he could make out on the road. Then, he was back and standing in front of a black stone feeling empty and hollow with Mary holding his hand as he said goodbye for the final time.

“The stuff you didn't say, why don't you say them now?” His therapist tilted her head looking calm. “No.” No, he couldn't, he couldn't say it. Besides, Sherlock was dead, and if he said it now Sherlock couldn't hear him. Mycroft probably would though, lord knows he got the file before and he sure as hell didn't want that bastard to know anything between him and Sherlock. Mycroft deserved to rot alone forever. It didn't even mater now. Nothing mattered anymore. Least of all John, his feelings. John Hamish Watson was nothing next to the brilliant, amazing, wonderful consulting detective Sherlock Holmes. John felt his insides tare at him as image after image swarmed of blood and chaos of bullets flying. Screams were mixing together with orders. And then Sherlock, lovely, brilliant, Sherlock laying face down on the cement, lifeless and growing colder by the second.

“You're a fucking machine.”

John bolted up panting and wide-eyed. His heart was racing and he was trembling. Jumping up, he ran to the loo just in time before vomiting. “John?” John gasped, clenching his hand to steady it as Mary spoke from the bedroom. “Are you okay?” He took deep breaths and wiped his forehead and mouth then leaned against the tub. “Fine.” He called back shakily, completely unbelievable. He was sweating, burning up and all he could see was image after image. God, he was dying. This is what dying felt like as he felt his throat close over in panic, at least he'd be joining Sher- And just like that he started thinking somewhat rationally.

It took a few moments before he was able to stand, still in the midst of a panic attack he raced for the bedside table and ignored Mary's look of concern as he locked himself in the bathroom again and quickly dialled. The phone shook in his hand and he prayed that it wouldn't start beeping again, but no, the other end picked up immediately.

“John?”

John could feel relief surge through him. He breathed out in a loud sigh. It took a few second for him to control himself, for him to control his panting. He could hear Sherlock's mind racing as he spoke more louder and firmer, “John? Are you all right? Say something.” He laughed and it came out a little hysterically. “Yeah, Sherlock. I'm okay. I just....I just needed to hear you.” A long pause then and all John could hear was his own panting. Sherlock finally spoke and his words sounded much more soft then they usually were, “John you're having an anxiety attack. What's your heart rate?” At that John smiled. Here he was feeling like the bathroom was enclosing on him and Sherlock wanted to know his heart-rate, perhaps his blood pressure too. You know, for future references. John laughed again. “John, why did you call?” John shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his nose taking deep breathes and concentrating on Sherlock's very real, very alive voice. “I just...I-um-” “You had a nightmare.” John silently cursed and thanked Sherlock's brilliance. “About me.” Sherlock continued in a very monotone voice, quick, precise, cutting. Great, John thought, I gave him a puzzle, and not a very good one either. “You're dreaming of me and it leads to an anxiety attack. Well, straight forward, I was dying in it. But why are you dreaming about me dying John? It's been two months I've been back. I thought we were over this. I did apologize.” He added on the last part almost sullenly.

John sighed heavily. Grudgingly he said, “My PTSD is back, alright? Haven't you deduced it yet?” Another pause happened before Sherlock spoke. John knew he was going over every image of him since they reunited. “You haven't shown many symptoms around me. I haven't heard any of your nightmares since you no longer live here. Your limp was gone, so was your tremor. You had never had obvious mood swings and stress actually keeps you level. There was no evidence to show-” “It's all right Sherlock. I'm okay. It was just a nightmare.” John started to calm Sherlock down since he was beginning to get agitated thinking he missed something. Which was actually calming him down, it was normal, it was perfect really. John was smiling, still shaky but feeling more like himself. Rather foolish and embarrassed.

“John?” Mary called from the other side of the door. “Talk to me. Are you okay?” “I'm fine,” he called back.

“Why were you dreaming of me dying John?” John rolled his eyes, and replied “Because I can control what I dream, Sherlock, and I chose to do it.” “Dreams commonly represent your state of mind if you believe that rubbish. You must be stressed or feeling anxious. How are you feeling?” John smiled, “You're asking me how I feel?” Sherlock scoffed, “If you're going to make this a-” “Calm down. I just- I don't know. I guess I got worried you'd disappear if I left the country or something. Stupid.” “Very.” They both chuckled. “I'll let you go. You sound better. I'll be here when you get back. Baker Street. I won't leave.” John couldn't stop himself form blurting out, “Promise?” He stilled. Blast, why did he say that? He didn't know but Sherlock smiled when he replied, “I promise, John.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lestrade sighed when he opened his door to his office. “Can you please get your ruddy feet off my table?” Sherlock huffed but didn't move. Again, Lestrade shook his head for what felt like the fiftieth time that night. “It's four in the morning Sherlock. There are no cases for you. Go home.” Lestrade was rewarded with another huff. Honestly, since Sherlock came back he spent more time here or the morgue than at Baker Street. He knew it had to do with John too. And since that...thing came out, Sherlock had hid in his office. It was hell to get through the reporters at the entrances every time he went out. He sat down ignoring the six foot genius stretched out in a chair on the other side of the desk and he started going through the files he had from last night. Four in the morning and he was here filing and keeping away from the ex-wife. He needed a life. “It's four in the morning Greg. Why are you here?” “You know why I'm here.” “Boring.” “Go home.” “Boring.” For the sixth time that night he shook his head. “Why don't you get another roommate?”

Sherlock's head snapped up from his starring session with his phone. “Pardon?” “With John moved out, why don't you get another roommate?” He hoped to not have a conversation with The Photo. He had suspicions that the two had been or might have been more than friendly and well a photo says a thousand words and they had four taken of them, in a two page spread, it was hard not to see it with it being all over the office and indeed everywhere. One of which was very...well, a thousand words and the fact that Sherlock was making no attempt at hiding the large hickey on his neck. If Lestrade had a word in it he would say Sherlock was showing it off. Sherlock went back to his phone and said in a haughty voice, “Don't be ridiculous.” Lestrade looked up and looking at Sherlock he saw that he was agitated. “What's wrong?” Sherlock scolded at him, “What makes you think anything is wrong? Nothing is wrong.” “Well something is. Besides, you just got off a case. I know you'd like nothing more than have a criminal lose twenty four seven but its only Saturday morning and I for one would like a quiet day ahead.”

After a few moments of blissful silence it was broken by Sherlock, who sighed and asked, “Is it bad?” Lestrade frowned. Sherlock gave him the look that said he was being an idiot again. “The pictures, are they... not good?” They both ignored Lestrade's flush and he cleared his throat. “Well..er...” “Do you think that John will stop working on cases?” Lestrade blinked. This is what was worrying Sherlock? “I don't know. You have to realize, Sherlock, he has a girlfriend-” Sherlock made a noise like a hissing cat and jumped up to start pacing. “Everyone says that! Yes, I know he is involved with someone. I know that! I don't care. I just want him on the cases again.” Ah, it clicked just like that. “You want it to be the way it used to be. Before you fell.” Sherlock froze by the window his back to him and Lestrade nodded. “Well Sherlock you might have been wandering around the world chasing after The Network. But here, London went on, days went on and we went on. John changed most of all. You weren't there-”

Sherlock turned without warning and cut him off looking so cold Lestrade actually felt fear for one of the few times around him. He tensed automatically. “I didn't choose to not be here Lestrade! I had no choice! Do you honestly think I would int-” “I know! I know Sherlock. Don't think I am not grateful, I know you sacrificed so much for us, for me, and I thank you but for us, for us, you were dead. It was...it was dreadful.” Sherlock nodded stiffly and flopped back down in his chair looking like his usual self again. “John is different from before. Why was he in the hospital?” Lestrade tensed again this time in worry and frowned saying, “He didn't tell you.” Sharp as a hawk, Sherlock narrowed his eyes on Lestrade and he froze. “What happened?” He coughed and said stiffly, “It's not my place. If you want to know you have to ask him.” Sherlock got up and Lestrade called after him, “You wont find any evidence in the locker room or in the files at the hospital, it's been taken care of.” Sherlock turned at the door and asked, “Mycroft?” Lestrade smiled.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock was in the worst of his black moods. He spent the morning walking down to familiar spots, chatting with a few people of his network. Different people had moved in, some of his old connections had left the life or passed away, and now he was quickly rebuilding it. But, all the while, he couldn't take his mind off John. His mind kept racing, images and memories jumping out at him. Sherlock didn't even know what was bothering him, he didn't know what was making his mind so lethal. And that was making him extremely furious and anxious. His hands shook for something. Anything. His eyes darted to a house and he knew, knew that he could have a needle in his arm in three minutes. No, two minutes and twenty eight seconds. But he promised John. Another lifetime ago, he promised John. So he settled for a pack of cigarettes at the nearest gas station.

Inhaling, he let all the stress leave him. He needed to think. John would be back Monday morning. It seemed so long. He scoffed at that, of course it wasn't. They endured three years apart, that was eighteen months longer than they had known each other. Besides, John called him, not even a day apart and John had called him. Granted, it was because of his nightmare but at the same time, Sherlock's mind countered, he was thinking Sherlock would leave and John absolutely did not want Sherlock to leave. That brightened him up a bit then he slammed a hand against his forehead, trying desperately to get his mind to quiet.

His mind raced over the last three years of hiding. He once told Moriarty that he wasn't on the side of the angels, told him he'd go down with him. Sherlock couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, oh, he had burned, he had fallen. Truly, at first he didn't even think too much on it. Cutting down people was easy, not as easy as he had hoped but he had done the job. He had left his home behind, left John behind, left Sherlock Holmes behind. He worked his way around the world with fourteen different passports and a new place every night, never staying more than twelve hours in one place. It was only after a year when he had gotten stabbed in another fight that he felt the unyielding weight of longing. Images swam through his head of the people he killed, without mercy, without remorse, he didn't try to set them up, to capture and arrest them, that was faulty, that could lead to John dying later.

But the images tore through him, of what John would say, of how he would look so sad to see him this skinny and this scarred and this broken. Sherlock had spent a month after his last job just eating and recuperating, actually thinking about what John would say if he showed up looking as bruised and skinny as he had been. He even gained five pounds with the help of Mycroft's shakes. But John was not there, not there to see Sherlock through the darkest of nights, not there to see him become the people they hunt. He was alone. He had no phone, no connections, nothing and no one, but he had stopped in the pre-dawn, stopped by a payphone and stood in it for three hours, twenty two minutes and fifteen seconds before getting the courage to walk away. He had spent all of that time remembering John's voice perfectly.

In the present, Sherlock leaned against a brick building, stubbed out the finished cigarette, and popped his collar as he turned to walk away. He roughly stuffed the images and memories in a empty room in his mind palace and closed the door harshly. Back at Baker street, he, for the twelfth time, examined the bruise John gave him. Oval shaped, deep purple against his pale skin tone, it was positioned right by his collar. Touching it; he couldn't stop his brain from transporting him back to that moment. It was so quick Sherlock had to clutch the sink to stop himself from collapsing as lust surged up in him. He remembered the feel, the taste, and every part of John's body, how he loved getting his hair pulled, his left side was sensitive just at his second rib, John was dominate too. He was aggressive and responsive, and every time Sherlock had made a noise, John reacted as if it were the most seductive thing he had ever heard and always increased the ferocity of his passion more than what Sherlock knew possible. He was able to hold them both up when Sherlock's legs had practically given out.

Sherlock growled. And that was the most troubling part of it all.

John's uncanny ability to raise this pathetic emotional response. And truly this was what was bothering Sherlock Holmes. He was a man of logic, of reason and science and emotion played no role in his life. He had practically ruined it just three years prior and now, what was he doing, but subjecting himself to it once more. He had died for god-sake! He lost his life, he lost his career and his reputation and over what-emotions! He had lost John.

“It doesn't matter!” He shouted now bolting out the bathroom and into the living room.

Emotion was beneath him, he would not be laid vulnerable again! Look what He had done to him, what had happened before. And Sherlock had proof that he was not a man to be lead by his heart. It was weak, it was a good way to destroy him. Moriarty had shown him that, had almost succeeded and he had finally been proven wrong, that he would in fact care about them, his friends. But he had no wish to experience it again, had absolute no wish to, and John had gotten over it, had moved on. Had Mary. Before he knew what he was doing he grabbed a lamp and threw it across the room breaking several glasses and instruments. The shattering crash calmed him. He expected Mrs. Hudson to show up before he remembered she was out on another date. She too had moved on. The magazine was there, on the table, open to that page that had That Photo. He had got it because he needed to see it, and everyone on Greg's floor was flashing it at him anyway. And no wonder, just looking at it made him squirm. It was The Photo for the covers as well, of course; the two of them intertwined, his head thrown back, eyes shut and mouth slightly parted in what could only be described as a moan. He clutched onto John and John was a true sight to see, strong and very much in control at least that was what The Photo showed; his mouth was just touching Sherlock's throat giving the camera a shot of his face. John's eyes were shut and he looked as if he might die if they were separated, one hand clutched in the back of Sherlock's jacket and the other very distinctively squeezing his ass.

Sherlock heated up feeling it once more and he stiffened, blocking it out. He was repulsed by his reaction and it was in all four of them. Sherlock looked...wanton, lost in abandon. Pathetic. He growled once more, surrounded by silence for a fleeting moment before his brain kicked in again. And the first thing that came to his mind was; What was John doing?

He yelled.

 

* * *

 

 

For John, Monday morning couldn't come fast enough. While he had always enjoyed his trips with Mary, he finally admitted that he craved being back in London and more often than not he wondered whether Sherlock was destroying the flat or Scotland Yard, they both seemed like likely possibilities. Mary had done her best to distract him with shopping and sightseeing as always and most of the time succeeded, they did have a pleasant time but both knew it wasn't like before. “I have to go straight to work from the airport. I'll see you at the pub right?” John smiled and nodded.

Today was Mary's little sister birthday and he genuinely liked her. Not to mention she was helping Harry through her longest sobriety stretch as a companion. “Of course. Olivia is thirty right?” She nodded grinning, “It's such a big deal for her, it's truly hilarious. She made the largest of parties for me when I turned thirty.” John grinned he remembered his thirtieth in Afghanistan, just him and twelve men playing cards on a rare quiet evening, no one had been injured at all for three days afterwards. It had been nice. That was eight years ago now. It was hard to believe that the years passed so quickly.

They separated at the airport and John promised he wouldn't be late. He had exactly an hour before he had to be back at work. Walking into Baker Street he felt tension leave him. He let himself in only to be confronted by Sherlock in his robe on the couch. Looking around briefly, he turned toward the consulting detective and asked in a confused voice, “Who is that?”

Looking back it was a bit rude but the chap in mention was sitting in a chair in his red Calvin Klein pants and John truly did not like the image. Sherlock, not looking up from his laptop said, “New roommate. You moved out, I needed a roommate and now I have one. John meet Mark.” Mark coughed and took a sip of tea and said, “Actually, it David.”

“Close enough.”

“I'm a criminology student, it's truly a dream to live here.” John took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “Sherlock are you joking? You have to be joking? He's a child.” “He's eighteen.” “Actually I'm twenty seven. Working on my masters. And I can hear you.” Both Sherlock and John turned to look at David whose brows rose just a bit. John couldn't help but take in his appearance, red brown hair, green eyes and honestly ridiculously good looking. He looked more like a model then a student. John turned back to Sherlock who was still looking at David with an intense expression of calculation that John did not like.

“This is not good Sherlock. You can't just take anyone off the street and live with them.” “I did with you and that turned out okay.” John sat down on the coffee table, feeling his chest tighten, facing Sherlock he argued loudly, “That was different!” “How?” “You weren't famous then, I had no clue as to who you were. Are you sure he's not a journalist, a reporter, hell, he could be a criminal and-” “Ignore him Doug. John has trust issues, a symptom of his P.T.S.D.” Sherlock finally turned to him and smiled, “I found a symptom. Very pronounced right now. How's your heart rate? Increased, just slightly.” Sherlock leaned forward and John forced down a growl knowing he was checking his pupils and said loudly and sternly, “Sherlock you cannot do this.”

Sherlock turned his attention back to his laptop or more importantly David's laptop since it was purple and Sherlock didn't own a purple mac. “It's already done John. You should get going, your shift will be starting soon.” The way Sherlock just brushed him off left a sour taste in his mouth. He could picture all their closeness vanishing, their friendship slowly deteriorating. In that one moment it was clear, if not entirely true, but in his panic, it sure looked real enough. Of Sherlock being gone when John came to check up on him, something that had happened before in the past month, off being in the middle of a case or of him barking at him to get out and let him concentrate. Of being at the hospital in the middle of an important surgery when Sherlock actually did need his help. The Work consumed Sherlock, he would never just drop by for afternoon tea. No, sooner or later John would be nothing but a memory locked away in that great mind of Sherlock Holmes.

“No.”

John found himself standing clenching his fists. Something in his tone must have showed because Sherlock's eyes were immediately upon him. “No, what?” Sherlock asked looking sharply curious and wary. “I want him out today, when I get back.” Sherlock tilted his head, his eyes roaming over him trying to figure out where this was coming from, he sat up facing John the lap top put to the side. “Why?” Taking a deep breath to control himself he pointed a Sherlock, “You are unbearable and I'm saving that boy,” a cough sounded here, “from living with a nightmare like you. You may behave yourself for a day or two but eventually he's going to have exams and papers and you running in and out of the flat, things blowing up and music at three in the morning is not going to help him!” Sherlock raised a brow and said, “He has been informed about all of that,” Sherlock turned toward David and continued, “Right Dan?”

John turned to leave but then turned back huffing and practically yelled, “I want him out!”

Suddenly standing, Sherlock towered over him, imposing and angry. “You have no say in this matter! You don't live here any longer John!” At that John went blank. There were very few incidences when John got angry, very few. He had gotten frustrated, upset, cross, and irritated but only a few times did he get furious, truly angry. He had lived with Sherlock for eighteen months and it had been a prized quality. Usually, he stormed off to the nearest pub, usually he snapped his jaw shut and eyes blazing, gave an icy glare to Sherlock so that the man actually knew and retained the information that he, Sherlock had done wrong. And as was their old routine, Sherlock would either make some comment in the morning suggesting his apology or burn toast for him and make them tea. Now John didn't march out which would have been a good decision to make. He should have clenched his jaw, remembered that the college student was sitting just feet from him staring at them curiously and openly. And if he had been in sane mind and acted like Sherlock he would have deduced that the boy-man (who looked like a model John kept thinking hatefully)- was in fact sitting in Sherlock's chair, not his.

Instead, John exploded, the first time since that night. All he saw in front of him was Sherlock moving on, Sherlock leaving all over again only worse because now he'd have a younger, actually trained in criminology partner in his work and John would see it, in newspapers, in interviews, and what sealed his fury was the image of seeing Sherlock run past him one day on the chase, with this-this boy chasing after him.

“No!”

“No Sherlock! Baker street is our home! My home! It's mine and so are you!” All of this was out in a rush and John froze finally coming back to himself and realizing what he said. He tried, truly tried, to not look so humiliated but knew he failed. He couldn't even believe what he had just said, didn't want to believe it but the way Sherlock was starring at him, wide-eyed yet stoic and intense at the same time. They were silent for what seemed like forever before they snapped out of it due to another cough.

David stretched looking interested, yet disappointed as he glanced at both of them, “So, I guess that means no shag huh?” Both men turned to him swiftly, both still processing. “What?” Sherlock asked looking genuinely taken back. David shrugged relaxed and replied, “Well I thought you might be interested since...well...” David tilted his head in John's direction making John go even redder.

He really had to get going now if he was going to be on time for work. John moved to make his escape when Sherlock launched himself across the room and forced David to stand jerking him roughly. John was wide-eyed thinking that he'd throw him literally down the stairs but what happened only lead him to a greater shock. Sherlock's hand was on David's neck and now John could see they were the same height as well and then quickly Sherlock leaned forward and snogged David passionately. John stood there just for a moment, his heart hammering and something else squeezing his chest painfully.

He practically ran out the room and outside, only stopping when he shut the door behind him. He took deep breaths and tried to calm himself down. Walking steadily down the street he tried not to think of Sherlock with that student. He tried not to think of Sherlock at all interested. Three years ago he wouldn't have been. That was three years ago, John was forced to acknowledge, it has been three years of Sherlock not even having a proper conversation never mind a touch. John snorted thinking it would probably even be good for him. He felt a panic attack coming along and tried his best techniques to relax. It took a moment but his practice was showing because he shoved the unsettling thoughts away somewhere dark and far away, in the back of his mind, probably to show itself in another nightmare later.

He raised his hand for a taxi that was driving toward him, hoping for the first time in a long while for a very traumatic crash to have happened. He wished right now for something dark and ugly and serious so that he could spend all day in the surgery stitching people up and not think for the next twelve hours.


	4. Please answer. Please hang up.

John sighed heavily as he changed his clothes. His shift was now officially over and he was supposed to meet Mary at the front doors for Olivia's birthday, taking a deep breath he prepared himself for that night and tried to push his headache and tiredness away. Today was going to end well, he told himself. He didn't think about Sherlock throughout his rounds, the day being busy and chaotic, just the way John liked it and he wasn't going to start now. He straightened his shoulders and walked calmly to the elevator.

Mary was wearing a wonderful deep green dress that hugged to her body and showed off her wonderful legs. He kissed her in greeting and held up the bag he was carrying and said, “I didn't exactly know what to get her.” Mary grinned and said, “As long as it isn't something a size too small we'll be fine.” John smiled back, he hadn't gotten her a jumper so he was okay for now. Mary told him about her day and how she had told off a doctor who didn't know a thing about one of her patients. Looking at him she scolded mockingly, “You better treat your nurses better than Doctor Andrews. That man drives me crazy, I don't even know how he passed his boards.” She shook her head and he nodded. He had heard of the doctor on several occasions from different colleagues, no one had a very good opinion of him, John was just glad not to work in the same wing as him.

 “So,” she said looking at him, “Did you see Sherlock today?” John stiffened the image coming back with a vengeance and he nodded. Speaking, he kept his tone calm, “I think you're right. I need to distance myself from him. We... um...Well, I won't be going back to Baker street for awhile.” Mary looked worried but she couldn't hide her relief as much as she tried. She did place her hand in his and squeezed. He smiled back at her. “Have you thought about what we were discussing prior to the detective’s return?” She asked as they neared the pub. John knew exactly what she was trying to ask and he nodded stiffly, he still didn't have an answer for her but he knew he would have to soon. He could once again hear the ticking clock, and he knew it would be more awful now than ever before. // Mary kissed his cheek and said, “Just know John, Sherlock is a full grown man. He makes his own decisions and he can take care of himself. You two are best friends, I get that, but you also have separate lives now.”

John could feel everything welding up right then and he snapped before Mary could continue, “I know Mary!” Mary flinched and he gave her an apologetic look as he said softer, “I know. Sorry. But I know. Anyway, he's got a new roommate so I'm sure between him and Mrs. Hudson he'll be fine." Mary nodded and turned away, he tried to stop picturing her smiling over the news.

The pub was brilliant, one of John's favourites, it was panelled in rich dark wood and was wonderfully warm and friendly. Olivia was sitting in a large round booth, both Mary and him made their way quickly through the crowd over to her. Olivia looked just like her sister except her hair; Olivia's looked slightly more red than blonde. “Mary! I'm so glad you could make it, I was scared you'd get called into something at hospital.” The sisters hugged and then Olivia beamed at him, hugging him she said loudly, “John! You're looking good old man!” He chuckled. “Careful now little one.” He wagged a finger at her, “Just eight years off now, right around the corner.” She shivered mockingly.

Harry was the next to give him a hug and she looked, he had to admit, much better than he could remember her looking. Her hair was a healthy blonde, just to her shoulders, newly cut. Her skin was back to being smooth and her eyes were amazingly clear. Though, he noticed she was fidgeting, he smiled at Olivia when she threw a supportive arm around the older woman. Harry smiled and they all sat down, John getting introduced to Olivia's friends. When they all ordered some drinks and appetizers Olivia made a show of looking at her watch, “Now I was born at elven forty five pm. I am still, for the next forty five minutes, twenty nine. What shall I do with the last of my twenties?” She looked up and grinned at them and John took up the question and said, “Your twenties are for terrible decisions Olive, you have to make one more.”

Mary was laughing at him as he ordered a mass amount of drinks, some he knew were disgusting and all of them strong. Olivia looked like she regretted asking when they were placed on the table but she shrugged lifted a glass and started downing them. “You are going to feel terrible tomorrow Miss Thirty,” Harry said shaking her head and looking amused as she sipped at her virgin Margarita. John throughout the night was impressed with his sister's will power. It was halfway through the night when everyone was relaxing, full and mildly drunk (except him and Harry) when John heard his name being called. He turned and immediately his eyes widened. The man stepping closer to him was tall, broad and slightly bearded. He had more grey hair then John remembered but the grin was the same.

John stood and they hugged. “Ben, how have you been?” “Just retired! God I can't believe it, won't be going on field trips anymore. Got any advice for me?” John shook his head but noticed the girls looking confused and a few of them very interested in the good looking man standing next to him. “Everyone this is Benjamin Colt he was a Major in the military.” John introduced Ben to everyone. Ben was grinning as he said, “Actually, I went up to Lieutenant-Colonial a year after you left. Lead the boys myself.” John wasn't surprised, though as a doctor he wasn't supposed to see much action, he had in fact saw plenty due to different circumstances.  Ben was a great solider, fabulous leader and truly calm headed and fair.

“So I heard you were shacked up with Sherlock Holmes. Is that true?” Ben asked as they sat down. John felt Mary tense and everyone else he knew had done the same. “I lived with him but we weren't like that.” Ben nodded, though only John saw the look in his eyes he replied, “I knew that was all tosh. I said to Micheal, you remember him? He's working in Germany now as a doctor on the base, anyway, I told him Three Continent Watson would never shack up with a man. Besides, knowing you, everyone at the base would have known you were gay.” John couldn't have gone more red at that, he took a large gulp of his soda.

Mary and everyone else was looking curious and finally Harry asked, “Three Continent Watson?” Ben grinned wickedly and John tried to stop him, “Don't. I mean it Ben, that was in the army, shit, I'm not-” “Oh, please Watson,” Ben said still grinning, “How many girlfriend's have you had back at home, staying in one place too. That was our nickname for your brother, Harry.” Ben said trying not to laugh, “Every time we went to a different country your brother somehow found a way to get incredibly shagged. He's a genius you know. New York, back, when we were what, twenty four? Then we went to Africa and yes, he got action there with another Brit vacationing. I mean seriously, who meets people like that in real life? And then in-” “Okay- They get it. It's now known all right?” Ben laughed and Mary shook her head and said, “Three Continent Watson?” He looked at her and said, “It's...well I was young.” She chuckled at that statement.

Ben then proceeded to entertain the group with old war stories, most ending up with John saving one of their joint friends and how John had gone against orders so much as to not get promoted. “Why did you refuse to follow Travars?” Harry asked, finding out more about her brother in the last hour then she had in many years. John answered truthfully, “He was a bastard and I was stubborn.” Ben nodded ordering his fourth pint and said, “You were incredibly stubborn and fiery. It was the fact that you were the first one to volunteer to go to the front lines for medic support and the fact that you're an amazing doctor that saved your ass from being honourably discharged earlier.” Ben looked around the small group and said, “John here, would have been promoted but he was constantly getting himself into and out of trouble. Not only that but I think you just enjoyed being at the level you were at.” John nodded in agreement, setting his glass of coke down, “It was a good position, I wasn't at the bottom but I still got to be at the same level as most of my mates. I was in a small crew and even though they all looked to me in dire times, it was never the pressure to be on top of my game constantly. I was still one of them.” Ben nodded getting it now that he had to be the leader for five years, it was pressure oriented and though it was rewarding, you were never again just one of the boys.

“I'm glad I got to see you.” John said smiling. He hadn't seen one of his army friends in forever and it seemed at times just a dream of a life he had once lived. Ben smiled back and John knew, he knew that Ben would have just as difficult time adjusting as he had. “Here,” he said writing down his number on a piece of paper, “whenever you want, just call. Kay?” He passed it to Ben and he knew Ben got the message. No one really talks about the PTSD, at least not when you were serving, no one talks about how a car going off can sound just like a bomb or how the people rushing past you can look like they were screaming and running in pain and horror. London was loud, crazy and crowed and John had jumped more in the first twenty four hours of being in London then he had in twelve years in the military. Ben nodded, no longer smiling and they pretended not to notice that his back was against a wall and his eyes shifted over the crowd. John knew they'd be going out from time to time when Ben needed to rant or just needed to let go of the war that had been both of their lives.

The night was one of laughter though, where memories faded and dulled and the only thing that remained was that night, with nine girls laughing and two men telling stories and jokes. Olivia loved the scarf John had bought her, as well as a certificate to a spa for a weekend. Mary had gotten her a trip to Austria for a week vacation. That had outshone her friend's gifts of earrings and candles and home accessories. They were still smiling when John had gone outside to call a cab, Ben right behind him.

“This is not going to be remembered by Miss Thirty tomorrow,” Ben said, smiling. They both chuckled. Olivia was currently in the bathroom, helped by the other girls. He nodded, “A good send off for her twenties.” They were quiet for a bit as Ben lit up a smoke and they walked a bit just to separate themselves from the crowd. John was feeling okay, his hand stopped shaking a half hour ago. “So you and Mary huh?” Ben said as he sat down on a bench. John sighed sitting down, “Don't go there, please.” Ben shrugged, “Listen I'm not judging, no judgement here. Hell, I did walk in on you many times throughout those three continents and we both know there were more than those few girls.” John looked to Ben and said, “But?”

Ben shrugged, “I just...I don't know mate. I just remember how you were with Henry.” John couldn't keep his body from tensing at the name. Ben noticed and put a hand on his shoulder, “I get the fact that you might only have been like that in war,” He glared at Ben, about to deny it, Ben continued, “Some guys are, it's nothing you know. I just don't want you to settle or be afraid, you're not that kind of man. If you love Mary, I'm all for her. I've seen too many lives cut short, I don't want you caged when you're living free.” John frowned, about to truly, for once tell someone, Ben, one of his oldest friends, a friend who had saved his life along will Bill, exactly what he was feeling, but then the girls were outside and they both stood.

In a flash John locked it all away again.

When the cabs showed up, John and Ben shook hands and promised to meet up. Harry was spending the night with Olivia so she would be okay, the girls packed into their own cab and waved, and John and Mary took their own cab home. And if John was more silent then usual, Mary for once, didn't try to get him to open up.

 

* * *

 

 

The week passed slowly for John. He spent most of the nights, having nightmares, with only a few hours sleep a night. Thankfully, his tremor wasn't back but his knee gave a few twinges which he kept to himself, frightful. He spent time during the days, glaring at his cell phone which beeped almost constantly. Mary finally got fed up on the fifth day and had snapped, “Doesn't he ever get a hint at all?” John had ended up having to shut if off after eight pm. It was on Monday, a full week later, that Lestrade called him.

“John I need you to please make up with him. I don't care what he did or didn't do. I don't care if he was out of bounds, he is killing me here. You do not know how much worrying I'm doing. And paperwork! He blew up a car. A car! Something for an experiment, he'll be arrested if he keeps it up, Mycroft is paying the fine right now but... Jesus, John I need you to forgive him.” “Does anyone care that we are not dating. That I am not Sherlock Holmes bloody nanny! I don't control him.” Lestrade lost it and yelled, “Well you tell him that!” Then he hung up making John want to throw his phone across his office. He took a deep breath and tried his best to ignore everything.

 Just then Jessica his intern knocked on the door, her eyes alight as she said, “You're needed in the ER. It's looks pretty bad.” He hated and loved the fact that she was smiling at this and he ran outside with her on his heels. The surgery was wonderfully messy. The man had gotten a bit too close to a zoo alligator on the animal's bad day. But as much as it looked torn and ragged it left good marking for him to work by and start the clamps and stitches. He talked throughout it to Jessica letting her see how his technique work. It was four hours later just as he got the nerves attached again, that a phone went off. He sighed not losing a beat.

“Come on people, this is an operating room, a man is on the table right now. Could you please turn it off or take it outside side?” Everyone looked into their pockets but after a few seconds of shuffling John let his eyes close for a second. “No, it's me. I'm sorry, truly. Emma could you reach in my pocket and switch it off?” Emma was smiling, he could tell even with the mask on. Doctor John Watson never left his phone on in surgery, in fact never got calls at all. He had been so used to the beep of texting he hadn't even recognized his own ringer. Emma held his cell phone a moment too long and John said, “Emma-” “Um it's just... It's Sherlock Holmes, doctor.” John froze and panic made his heart race for a moment. Sherlock never called.

“More suction. Answer it and asked him persistently this. Is there a gun to your head?” Emma froze but she answered and asked, “Um..?” John gave her a hard look and she asked him, “Is there a gun to your head?” John stopped himself barely from laughing at Emma's expression. “Um.. I'm Emma McDonald...yes I am his nurse how did you-okay. Okay.” A few moments passed and John narrowed his eyes.  

“Hang up."

Emma looked at him and John said. “If he could talk this long, he's in no danger, just hang up and switch it off please. Jessica look at this.” Emma spoke into the phone after monitoring the vitals. “Um, yes, Mr. Holmes, I'm sorry but Doctor Watson wants me to-yes. Okay. Bye.” Emma coughed and John rolled his eyes and asked, “What does he want you to tell me?” Emma's face was red underneath her mask and she said, “That you are being very difficult and childish by ignoring him.” His phone beeped then and John sighed loudly. He looked up to see all of the people actually looking openly curious and amused. No one really knew the relationship between him and Sherlock. Before he could stop her Emma read aloud the text, “Is me texting more preferable to calling? Yes, stupid question, your nurse can read it out. Obviously, your surgery is almost over and now your just showing off to your interns. SH” John scoffed and another beep sounded and Emma read. “It's okay, all doctors of your standard do it. We need to talk and you choosing to ignore me is getting very annoying. I know Lestrade told you I blew up a car. You should know that it was indeed an experiment. Also, I might have caused a small amount of water damage in the bedroom and living room. That was unplanned but I did get a better result than predicted. SH”

John was now working quickly to sew the man back up, trying his best not to leave too many scars. He needed Doctor Collins here, the plastic surgeon was much better at closing so that the patient had little to no scarring. “Em, could you please text him back and say we'll talk later. Please hang up.” Emma texted back and just before she turned it off a beep sounded. “Oh god,” John breathed as just as both he and the detective knew, Emma couldn't help herself from checking. As her eyes went wide, he tried not to imagine what he said but he knew he didn't want a room full of people hearing it. Emma spoke anyway making John's face blush as she finished.

“If this is about the damned photo I have apologized. Mary has gotten over it, it doesn't matter anymore. I also apologized for making her jealous. If this is about Derek you should know he is gone and the event was another experiment of sorts. SH” John froze trying to think of a Derek when he realized he was talking about David. The event? Did he mean-John shook his head and said absentmindedly, “It's not about David.” A few seconds later without his realizing Emma had punched it in the phone beeped again. “No, Emma-” “So it is about David? SH"

Another beep. And Emma spoke even after he told her, once again, to hang up. “You're being completely draft. I was merely trying to simulate another result. It failed. He left right after you did. There is no need to be jealous of him, John. Besides, he didn't make tea very well, he made it differently than you do. I don't understand why we can't reasonably talk about this. You can move back in, I have no problem with you moving back in if you wish. SH”

John turned to Andrew who he knew was grinning his ass off, his shoulders were shaking in silent laughter. This would be all over the hospital by tomorrow. The mysterious John Watson was now beat red and everyone was finally getting in on their 'relationship'. “Jesus, Em, could you please just-” Another beep and Emma spoke though more quietly and looking guiltily at John. “Please don't hang up. Just to clarify I only kissed David nothi-” “Andrew,” John almost yelled cutting Emma off who jumped, “could you start closing please?” Andrew nodded and Emma put his phone in his pocket looking guilty and red but still grinning.

Once he was washed and back in his office he picked up his phone, thanking god, his shift was over. It had beeped eighteen more times and John sat down heavily. He dialled the familiar number and didn't have to wait. “John.” “You can't text me like that, ever. You made it seem-” “Seem like what, my dear Watson?” John leaned back into his chair ignoring his new pet name, “I wasn't jealous. I don't know why I said all that, it just came out. I needed time to myself.” “So would this be a horrid time to have dinner?” Confused, John was about to ask when he saw Sherlock walk up to his door through the glass windows. The tall detective lifted up a bag of Indian take out and John so shocked at this out of character gesture, stayed seated as Sherlock walked in.

“Am I intruding?” John realized he still had the phone to his ear so he shut it and shook his head. Sitting down on the modern couch they put the boxes on the table and Sherlock was the first to speak, “I might have a case in a few days. Would you be available?” John picked at his curry as he frowned, “Might have a case in a few days?” Sherlock shrugged, “When I was in jail this afternoon, the police kept talking about a few unusual deaths lately. I haven't found any evidence to connect them yet but they're too similar to be random occurrences. I made Lestrade look into them and he'll tell me if there's something interesting, tomorrow morning.”

“You didn't look into it yourself?” “I had places to be.” Sherlock said with a shrug. John stayed silent. He really shouldn't, he needed to stop having Sherlock be the centre of his world. But at the same time, they hadn't even spoken in a week, David was gone and he now knew it was just an experiment, odd, but Sherlock was more than odd. He sighed and replied, “Sure. I'll join, might be difficult but I could put in for some time off.” Sherlock smiled and said, “About the texting, I'll try not to include your coworkers into our conversations.” John nodded taking that and letting everything else go.

They had a pleasant dinner, Sherlock actually had some rice and chicken. “Home then?” Sherlock asked as John packed everything up. Sitting up more straight John frowned and said, “Listen, about me and Baker Street. I can't move back. I am with Mary now Sherlock and I just...I...” Trailing off John didn't know how to word it and Sherlock was looking at him intently. Sherlock raised his hand and for the first time since the kiss he ran his fingers gently down John's cheek in a gentle caress. “It's your place too.”

The door opened and both men looked up to see Mary frozen in the doorway. John stood up, Sherlock's hand falling slowly, and said, “Mary. Hey, um,” he turned to Sherlock and back to her, “Sherlock came over. We're going out tonight. You don't mind do you?”

“We had a reservation tonight John.”

John let out a huff, shocked, running a hand threw his hair only now remembering, “I'm so sorry.” “Can we talk outside?” John turned to Sherlock who just rolled his eyes, “I'll wait at the entrance.” Sherlock grabbed his jacket and with some sort of divine grace that most mortals didn't have, he threw on his coat in one gesture, glided up to Mary and quietly with a smile said, “Good day Miss Morstan.” John tried breathing slowly as he heard the mocking tone in Sherlock's voice. Then he went past the windows and disappeared down the hall. Mary shut the door and crossed her arms. “I thought you were taking a break from him?” “I was. We worked it out. Everything's fine. Are we fine?” Mary sighed and sat down in a chair, “Listen John, I can't be second to him. I am trying, trying very hard not to demand or get too jealous, but I do. I do get jealous and scared.”

“Mary you're not-”

“You forgot about our date tonight.” John didn't have anything to say to that except, “I'm really sorry.” “I love you John Watson.” Mary stood and kissed him lightly. “I just hope that you love me still.” Mary had tears in her eyes but before John could talk she said, “No, it's okay. I'll see you tomorrow.” And with that Mary walked out of the office.

When John walked out of the elevator he saw Sherlock standing by the doors looking intensely at the ground absorbed in some thought or another. When he heard John coming, Sherlock looked up and smiled, “Come on John, a cab is already outside.”

John breathed in deeply and prayed he wasn't making a huge blunder of things.

 


	5. Teetering

Sherlock woke up slowly, he stretched out on his bed and he stayed there for a few minutes trying not to let the silence press in on him until he heard a clang. Bolting up, he readied himself for an attack until a second later he heard a familiar voice curse. He got up and then froze. Looking at his robe, his closet and then hearing more little noises from John, Sherlock couldn't help himself from experimenting one more time, after all he hadn't gotten a true result yet. He grabbed his sheet, wrapped it around him expertly, walked out into the hallway and then into the kitchen. John looked up and smiled apologetically, "Sorry Sherlock, I dropped a pan. Want some eggs and bacon?"

Sherlock frowned and John continued, "Mrs. Hudson gave me some so that I'd have something to cook without running to the shop." He nodded and said, "Obviously. I'm not hungry but I'll have some coffee." John rolled his eyes and started making some. "You need to eat something this morning. Toast?" Sherlock just grunted in response getting comfortable on the couch. His mind darted around different possibilities until he selected the most likely, just as John called for him. As usual, John had a mystical talent for having everything done at the same time, he laid two plates on the table with difficulty since Sherlock had it full of books and papers that he had pored over for the past week.

Huffing, Sherlock knew John wouldn't pass him coffee or toast, he got up and sat down at the table in the living room. It was their breakfast table, the table John made him swear never to put dramatic experiments on. The table in the kitchen, however, was loaded with laboratory equipment. Taking a sip of coffee he couldn't help but sigh in contentment, no one made coffee like John. Smiling John took a large bite of eggs. "Tell me," He said taking one of Sherlock's pieces of toast, Sherlock smiled thanking him silently and dutifully taking a bite of his own piece, "do you think you'll get the case today or tomorrow? I can only take off two days at most. It'll be tight."

"Lestrade will phone. Just wait," Sherlock eyed the clock and continued, "no more than an hour." Tilting his head he tried to read John. _Rested, comfortable, had a very good sleep, pinched looking though, worried? Worried about whom? Mary._ Sherlock took another sip of his coffee as he observed his companion. "What are you worried about?" Sherlock asked, surprising himself. John looked up from his almost empty plate. He had started eating faster, nervous, as he felt Sherlock's eyes slowly rake over him. Sherlock tried not to feel too much, nervousness didn't necessarily mean anything. "What do you mean?" "Your girlfriend. You're nervous she'll, what, exactly? Ban us from seeing each other? Be angry that you spent the night here in your old room? Or are you nervous that she might think you spent it in mine?"Sherlock kept his expression neutral even when he saw John freeze for a few moments before quickly collecting himself. Sherlock intentionally leaned closer, slowly, letting the sheet fall down his shoulder. He watched John closely as he picked up his cup once more.

John swallowed and felt his heart race. It was too early for this. Sherlock's eyes pierced through him, scanning him with such intensity it left him nervous. Fidgeting, he tried not to think about Sherlock's voice or the thought of them in the same bed. He was in a relationship, he reminded himself. He couldn't help but glance at Sherlock's skin, porcelain skin, that begged to be touched. _God he was flawless, no_ , he shook his head, put down his cup and got a hold of himself. He said calmly, "I'm not nervous. Or worried. I'm fine. It's fine. Everything's fine." Sherlock arched a brow but said nothing. John cleared his throat and gathered up the plates to put them in the sink, "You know we should go shopping," he said over his shoulder, "If we have some time before Lestrade phones, that is." After putting the dishes down, he turned to continue talking, only to jump.

"Jesus."

Sherlock had followed him, but being so silent, John hadn't heard. "Don't do that." Sherlock's lips twitched before he said, "I want you to move back." John frowned leaning back into the counter because Sherlock stood so close. John crossed his arms and said, "Sherlock, we've talked about this. I have an apartment, I'm with Mary. Do you mind moving back?" Sherlock was now leaning into John. John shut his eyes trying to block out the sight. "Sherlock, I really don't appreciate being used for your experiments. Just stop okay." When he opened his eyes, Sherlock, it seemed was even closer.

"John, I need you to move back. It's too quiet. I need you here."

John couldn't help but shake his head. Sherlock could be so difficult. "Sherlock." John tried to be firm but it came out as a cross between a plea and a whine. "John." Sherlock replied, whispering, as he leaned in even closer. John's heart started to skip as he realized what was happening. He put out his hands to push Sherlock away, instead, they spread out over Sherlock's chest. He had to admit, Sherlock was the master of dressing in sheets. When the front opened slightly, letting his fingers brush over soft skin, John found himself leaning closer, his eyes falling shut just as Sherlock placed a soft kiss on his lips.

The kisses were chaste, soft, and gentle. Too soon, John found his hands moving across Sherlock's chest at first hesitant and then more confident, moving over a long scar carefully, his passion taking over as their kiss deepened. They fought for dominance, and John knew this is how it would always be. Both of them needed control. John sighed as Sherlock's hands roamed down his back, pulling at his button-down sweater. His heart racing, he bit back a moan as those long fingers made a trail along his back. Sherlock pressed into John, his lower back pressing against the counter. The sheet had fallen off Sherlock's shoulders, holding itself up at his waist with all the tangles in it. John was losing himself in his desire and Sherlock was quickly following. This was such much better than all those layers of clothes, John thought as his hands ran over Sherlock's soft skin, marked with scars that John couldn't help but run his hands over.

They clutched each other, kissed until their lips were bruised. It was harsh, neither giving in, clutching as if they would never be given a second chance; their hearts pounding. Sherlock was the one who pulled away to kiss down John's neck. It was only then that John's brain started to function again. As Sherlock bit right on a sensitive part, John groaned but then quickly pushed him backwards. Sherlock was panting, his cheeks and chest flushed, his lips swollen. Sherlock's eyes though were dark, intense and full of longing. The image he made, John knew, would haunt John's dreams and he shuddered, not knowing if they'd be wonderful nightmares, or torturous dreams. Both of them stared at each other.

John was going back and forth between anger and desire. Sherlock was looking intently at him as if expecting something, John didn't know what. Then, Sherlock just turned and walked to his bedroom. John spent the next five minutes trying to come up with something to say. He didn't know how to feel, he hated that Sherlock was doing this for his own curiosity or whatever he was doing it for. He hated that he responded to it. God this was awful. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache starting. Sighing, he knew he needed to tell him to shove it off. But he did have to admit, he liked it.

Craved it.

Bloody hell.

Why now? Why was Sherlock acting this way now? Sherlock came out, dressed impeccably, in his favourite violet shirt and jacket. John was seated in his chair, he straightened immediately as Sherlock stood in the living room, awkwardly silent. John was just about to speak when Sherlock cut him off, "Please, can we...can we just ignore it. Delete it." Sherlock looked lost and John realized this was only the second time he had seen him this way, Sherlock looked away from John and stayed silent. It made John's anger fade just a bit but he still said, "You need-we need to stop this. Whatever it is-an experiment-or whatever. It just," John breathed deeply as he looked at Sherlock, his mind racing. Sherlock kept his gaze on the window and John's voice quieted, he couldn't believe what he was saying. "It needs to stop." He cleared his throat as the words faded to whispers. Sherlock nodded, his expression blank and just then a phone went off. Sherlock bolted towards it on the table. "Yes..I knew that... Two?.. Address?" He hung up and turned to John.

Both of them stay silent for just a moment. "Do you want to.." "Yes." John stood, cutting Sherlock off. Sherlock nodded and together they gathered their coats and were running downstairs. For once, they didn't go halfway across town, instead, their crime scene was just blocks away, right in their neighbourhood. Sherlock was immediately scanning the modern, expensive apartment. The bodies were in the bedroom and that's were both men froze for a fraction. While Sherlock had spent the last minute categorizing, John took the full blast of information. The two homicides were two men, two men who not only lived together but were, indeed, together. Sherlock recovered first, going around the room and then crouching by the taller man who was laying by the window on the floor. The other man was on the bed, his body clad only in his pants. Blood was everywhere, John could tell there had been an explosive fight. And then there was the fact that both men had their faces completely bashed in. No one could even say what they looked like, there were no photos of them anywhere.

Sherlock stood and said, "Just like the last three victims." Lestrade was frowning, "Yes, but again, they have nothing in common. The first man was in his thirties, had a wife and kid. Found in an alleyway. Next, was a student, barely out of college, he was found in his room at his flat on King's Street. Here's some pictures of them," Sherlock took them and then passed them to John. The first victim showed him and his wife. The other was a young boy was sitting on a couch surrounded by friends. "Besides, the faces being..." Lestrade took a breath and even John had to admit, it was gruesome, "destroyed. There's nothing there." Sherlock was now looking at the blonde man on the bed as John went to examine the face in more detail.

"John," John turned to Sherlock before he could even take a step toward the body. "Turn around."

John froze. As did Lestrade and Anderson who was standing in the doorway, waiting for Sherlock to finish. John couldn't believe it. "Excuse me?" Turning around was for people who Sherlock couldn't stand, ei; Anderson and sometimes Lestrade. Not him. "Turn around, right now." Sherlock was getting anxious, he was missing something. John sighed heavily and then turned around. Anderson was smiling at him, "How does it feel Doctor? You two having a little domestic, again?" John glared at him and Sherlock's eyes widened. "Oh, oh, how stupid. Stupid, stupid." Sherlock was beside him before John could ask and he grabbed John's good shoulder and turned him around so that they were face to face. "John," Sherlock grinned, "Oh yes!"

Lestrade, now frowning in confusion instead of horror, asked, "What is it?" Sherlock turned to him and said, "Who spoke to the first victim's wife? You or Dimmick?" Lestrade breathed out harshly and then spoke calmly, "Detective Inspector, Dimmick. Why?" "Course it was. There is a very definite link between the victims and indeed the killer. But why change his M.O.?" John tilted his head and sighed and spoke for everyone, "Sherlock, we are not following." "What's the first thing you would do if a burglar came into Baker Street?"

"What?"

"John! Baker Street or your flat, whatever. What would you do?" "I'd grab my gun." John glanced at Greg and he coughed, "At least, I would grab my gun, had I still had it." Sherlock nodded and then pointed to a bloody baseball bat that laid on the floor on the left side of the bed. "The larger of the two gentlemen, heard the noise, he was the one who automatically went to protect his lover. The other went for the phone." Sherlock turned to Lestrade and Lestrade said, "Lines are cut." Sherlock nodded and continued, "Their cell phones also had no signal. The killer is over six foot, and very fit, able to take down these two men swiftly. The way he obliterates their faces is extremely telling. He's spiralling now, changing M.O.'s, most likely he'll kill tonight. " Sherlock then opened the balcony doors and looked down. "Not too far of a drop, most likely left this way." He entered the room again and said, "Well lets get going John."

Lestrade stopped him as he walked into the hallway. "Wait, why are the faces telling?" Sherlock turned and gave them all the look that said they were being idiots and said, "I feel so sorry for you all. How can you not see it?" After a second in which everyone gave Sherlock irritated looks he said, "Because the killer a gay male, who grew up in very homophobic circumstances, it had to be extreme because he absolutely despises himself, poor sap. That's why he does it, he doesn't want to see himself as one of them. He targeted closeted gay males, the first victim might have been married to a woman but he had a male lover on the side. You can tell in the pictures. Here he's holding his wife but he standing off, obvious emotional distance. As for the younger male, see the boy at his side, leaning into him. Lovers, though adapt at hiding it. Now what's changed in him? He went after in closeted gays before, but these two men were open and perfectly happy." He pointed at the wall. "Where are the pictures?"

"Pictures?" John asked. Sherlock led them back into the living room and pointed above the gas fireplace. "There, a photo and here and there, you can tell by the markings, very faint, they hadn't been living together long. Very happy couple though. So the killer is now going after couples. Why? Maybe he, himself, entered into a relationship? No. An obsession of his entered into one? Maybe. Could be, he's working up to go after them." Sherlock frowned as he went silent going over all the possibilities. John nodded and said, "Okay then." Lestrade sighed and said, "I'll go back to the families and ask around." Sherlock was already headed for the door.

Before John could catch up Lestrade pulled him aside. "Listen, about your gun, I know you loved the Browning but it was illegal for you to have. Although, I may not have given it to the right people." John smiled and said, "Thanks Greg." Lestrade shrugged, "You were going through a hard time. You don't have another one do you?" At Greg's firm voice, John could practically feel his Sig Sauer heat up against his back as he replied, "No, not at all." Greg nodded but said knowingly, "Sherlock got you another didn't he?" John smiled saying guiltless, "It was an attempt at forgiveness. I was compelled to take it." Greg's lips twitched as he tried not to chuckle as he replied, "I never heard that."

Sherlock was, surprisingly, waiting for him outside and he quickly started walking toward a main street. "We need to get to his hunting grounds soon. He'll be out tonight." "First, how do you know his hunting grounds? Second, how do you know he'll murder some bloke tonight?" Sherlock smiled and said, "He's going after couples, he won't kill a bloke, John, he'll kill two. As for his hunting grounds, he's very deliberate where he's killing." Sherlock showed him the map on his phone with little red dots labelling the scenes. "He stays within these three neighbourhoods but I have a feeling the true intended victim is on the opposite side on London." South London, John thought and then it only made sense after that, all the dots did make a pattern. Huh.

John nodded but honestly, if he knew the plan, he would have gone home. Truly.

John should have seen it coming. In fact, he was cursing himself and Sherlock. Sherlock, once more, put a hand on his arm as he leaned in to speak. "Just relax. We aren't going to catch him if your acting-" "Acting like what, Sherlock? Acting, oh, I don't know, like I have a girlfriend? Like the fact that I am currently straight and am now sitting at a very gay cafe." Rainbow flags were everywhere, couples were everywhere. John couldn't help but clench his jaw, he had long ago lifted a hand to his face in embarrassment, wanting to hide from everyone's view. Sherlock finally backed off and then nodded as if confirming something with himself. "If you do not wish to do this John, I fully understand. I am sorry, I never meant to make you uncomfortable. Please, you can leave. I can still fix this." John watched as Sherlock's eyes raked over the men in the cafe. Immediately, he tensed. John spoke, open-mouthed, "You're going to pick someone up?" Sherlock nodded, his eyes narrowing on a young brunette.

John was already shaking his head, shocked. He ignored his bubble of curiosity at the thought of seeing Sherlock actually do it, his frustration winning. John, before he could think better of it, spoke up, "Stop this. You're not going to endanger an innocent man." "Don't worry John. He's a krav maga expert. He'll be perfectly fine." John's hand reached out to Sherlock's arm just when he was about to get up. "It's fine." Sherlock stared at him and John cleared his throat. "It's fine." Sherlock sat back down and then hesitantly leaned in. "We need to be more happy."

And just like that Sherlock transformed. John was used to this, Sherlock was an amazing actor. He could easily win Oscars. In a blink, he went from arrogant detective to gay, a very flirty, gay. John couldn't help but laugh as Sherlock continued, telling him a story of his youth, about a boarding school mishap, John had no clue whether or not it was even real but it was humorous. By the time sunset came, John had told Mary he was on a case, skipping on work once more which she made clear she disapproved, but she gave in and told him to be safe.

They had gone to the farmers market, had dinner, and Sherlock kept up his acting so much that John was actually liking him more this way, but he always remembered that Sherlock was acting and he himself never truly relaxed, scanning every area they went. Finally, they stopped at the park just a block down from Baker Street. "What is it?" John tensed, ready for anything, except of course, what happened. Sherlock grabbed his sweater and pulled him close. His hands wrapped around his waist and he asked, "John Hamish Watson, you've met my family. They love you, just as I do and..well...would you..." Sherlock stopped and took a deep breath. John couldn't help the fact that his heart pounded, or the fact that he was faced with the real fact that Sherlock was the best liar he ever knew.

"Would you marry me?"

John's brows went up and it took everything in him not to laugh. But he still couldn't speak so he just wrapped his hands in Sherlock's hair and brought down his head for a kiss. It was slow and sensual and both of them were breathing deeply when it ended. "I'm taking that for a very strong, yes." John then laughed. By the time they were in the living room in Baker Street, John was silently freaking out. He didn't want to be doing this. He didn't want to be anything like this with Sherlock. He sat down heavily in his chair. "How do we know he even saw any of this?" Sherlock was shutting off every light Mrs. Hudson had left on for them. He grabbed John's hand and John willingly followed into Sherlock's bedroom. The room was as always pristine and it reminded John that Sherlock could actually pick up after himself.

Sherlock went to take John's shirt off, when John pushed his hands away. Sherlock gave him an irritated look as he began to unbutton his own shirt. "Honestly, John," Sherlock's voice was now normal and back to his posh self. The change was slightly alarming. Sherlock huffed as he said, "I don't know why you're being so difficult. I just asked you to marry me, obviously there would be some sort of...celebration... of the fact. I wouldn't have done any of this, if I wasn't sure." John shook his head feeling a strange sort of relief that Sherlock was back to normal, but only took off his sweater, leaving him with his shirt. "When will he be here?"

The answer was a half hour. A half hour of John trying not to laugh as Sherlock jumped on top the bed, making it squeak loudly. He was nothing but thorough, John thought. Sherlock stopped, they both stilled, listening, not to the stairs leading down, but upstairs. John tensed, his hand tightening on his gun. "The roof access, I thought it was sealed off." John whispered. Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he said, "I got bored last week." John glared at him while Sherlock glared back as if it were John's fault.

As the murderer came down the stairs more quiet than most, he entered the living room. Sherlock walked quieter, almost noiseless, as he entered the kitchen. John's heart was racing as Sherlock turned on the kitchen light. The killer had a gun this time, John registered just as it went off. Sherlock charged, going down with the killer, John heard something snap in the process. He found himself on the floor, only then recognizing he had been shot. He looked at his arm, only to jump up and help Sherlock. Sherlock was supporting a bruise on his face, but the killer himself had a broken nose and wrist. John pointed his own gun at him just as Sherlock was kicked off him. "You know, I'm a better shot than you. I suggest you stay put."

Sherlock stood, the killer's gun in his hand. The killer, a young bloke, blonde and pretty, lay on their floor, a knife in hand. Then slowly, very slowly, he let it go and Sherlock took out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. It was a half hour later when John was stitching himself up that Mary showed up in the flat. Her eyes were wide. "Oh my god, John." She knelt beside him and he grimaced. "It's alright now Mary. It's fine. Just a graze, didn't even go that deep." It was only him and Sherlock there now. Lestrade had offered to stay but everyone knew he had to interview the murderer. She kissed him quickly and then stood.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, playing a violin casually in hand, he looked bored. John tied up stitches and wrapped a banged hurriedly but before he could stop her, Mary spoke, her voice, cold. Whatever softening she had for the detective the last couple of days, vanished at the sight of John hurt. "Sherlock Holmes, I want you to stay away from John. I mean it. You are nothing but a danger to him." "Mary, stop. It's okay." "No John! You got shot today. It might be a flesh wound but next time it could be worse. Much worse. Do you want to die?" Mary was yelling, looking at him and he tensed.

She took a deep breath and he could see her worry. She loved him too much to risk him. He closed his eyes, knowing that and feeling extremely guilty. He loved her so much and couldn't imagine losing her. Standing, John said sternly, "No. No, I don't. But-" "But what? Do you want to be doing this again? Do you want to keep working as a surgeon? Because you've been taking more shifts off lately then ever before. Do you even want to move to New York?" John saw Sherlock's eyes narrow, the music stopped and John clenched his jaw. "Mary."

She turned to Sherlock and said, "That was our plan, you know. We were supposed to be there last week now. John was even looking at hospitals in Manhattan. If you had been gone one more year, bloody hell, six more months; John wouldn't have even been living in London." She turned to him, her eyes glistening and said, "I am moving there, John. And I want you with me. I love you. I truly do, I get why you think you owe him. But it's the other way around. Your life is with me now. It's your career. It's being safe every night. It's getting married and having children. Do you even want that anymore?" Tears were flowing down her face and John instinctively wrapped his arms around her, remembering all their late night conversations. His mind flashed to a family, to her in a wedding gown. He had, on a few occasions, pictured it.

Right before Sherlock returned.

John felt like he was stretched in two. It was horrible, he felt his anxiety pick up, his heart racing. Mary stepped away from him and hurriedly wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry. Really. I'm so sorry John." She stared intently at Sherlock for a moment and said, "Tell me, can you deduce everything I'm thinking about right now?" Sherlock's expression turned, if possible, more cold and he hissed out a harsh, "Yes." Mary stood up straight and said, "Good." With that she kissed John's cheek and left. John stood there not knowing to stay or leave. Not knowing who to go after. Sherlock was immediately out of his seat and he started pacing. John stared at him, waiting for the explosion. "Sherlo-"

Before John could even start to question him, Sherlock was out the door, running. John held his head in his hands. He hadn't gone to Mary and he hadn't followed Sherlock. He had no idea how he got in this position. He hated Sherlock right then and he hated the fact that he didn't know what to do. He wanted so bad to tell him, to just say it. Today they had spent the whole day together, practically on a date. God, he was pathetic. He knew throughout it that Sherlock was acting. But when he told him, that he loved him. No he didn't, John thought, he didn't say it exactly. _Just as I do_ , he had said. John shivered. He was pathetic. He was a horrible boyfriend. His thoughts turned to Mary. Lovely Mary. God he did love her, loved sleeping next to her, loved seeing her eyes light up at the sight of him. She had given him so much and what was he doing? Hurting her at every opportunity, since the day Sherlock came back. Maybe he should move, just leave it all behind.

His mind kept bringing up images. Images of Henry, images of Sherlock, images of Eric, of Mary. All of them, good and bad and worse. John lifted his head, only to order another beer. He was going to get drunk. Very, very drunk. It wasn't until three-thirty am that he stumbled in Harry's new flat. She was giving him a horrible, death glare. It heightened even more when he laid down on her couch and the small bottle fell out of his pocket. He was unaware of it, or her picking it up in horror. He wasn't aware of her dialling on her phone, or of her staying out in the living room to watch him for the rest of the night.


	6. Choices Make or Break US

When John woke up the next morning, he groaned. His head was pounding horribly, but it was the queasiness and the cotton-mouth that made him grimace. When he turned, groggily opening his eyes, he froze. The first thing he realized was that he was in Harry's living room. The second; that Harry, Olivia, Mary and Greg were all sitting around him. Slowly, he sat up, dizzily, feeling the room tilt. "Sorry about crashing." He tried to ignore everyone looking at him but couldn't stand it after a minute. "Look, I drank, okay. It was one night. I'm fine." Harry crossed her arms angrily. He winced. He really should have gone to Greg's but her place had been closer and it had seemed a good idea last night.

Greg shook his head and said, "John, we're not here to judge. We just want you healthy and happy." When John gave him a puzzled expression, Greg nodded to the coffee-table in front of him. The bottle. John  rubbed his hands over his face, sighing. He spoke quietly, trying to lesson the pounding migraine he had, "This is not what you think." He sighed again. Harry spoke up, her tone firm, "Don't bullshit another addict John." He shook his head, "No seriously, I didn't take anything." Just looking at it made his leg twinge painfully, his arm throbbing. "I ran into Chris and he gave me some. Look, I didn't take it, I went to a pharmacy next door and got some Tylenol instead. And, I do know that was wrong too." John put his hand into his pocket and took out a larger bottle, this one full of Tylenol. "You can count them, I only took one." It had taken all of his strength just to take one, he wanted the whole bottle to distract him from the smaller one in his jacket.

Harry swept a hand through her hair and sighed heavily. She took the Oxycodone and left the room. John could feel the sweat pouring off him, both from the hangover and the need to chase down Harry. When he heard the toilet flush, he felt dread and relief at the same time. Clenching his hand, he hid the shaking from everyone. Mary looked at him sadly, guiltily, and she came to sit down by him, "I'm sorry about last night and thinking you relapsed. I'm so sorry for going off on you, when I know better. I've been a major stressor for you recently and that's my fault." He shook his head once more and put a hand on hers, replying, "No, it's okay. I don't fault you at all, our life has been pretty hectic lately and it's not what you-we're-used to." Quietly, he added, "I thought I was going to, too."

"I'm going to back off now, John. I'm sorry I haven't been as understanding as much as I thought I would be. there's just something about Sherlock that rubs me the wrong way. I can't help it and I don't think he can either. What do you need though? Whatever it is, I'll do it." John smiled as best he could and said, "I just need some time to sort myself out, that's all." Mary swallowed and nodded, she smiled at him and said, "Whatever you need. I know we've been going through a rough patch but I do love you and I want the very best for you." He smiled this time meaning it and kissed her lightly. Greg sighed, saying, "I'm sorry we had to go through this John, but everyone here, myself included, cares about you and we just want you to be okay." He nodded, he had great friends.

It took over half hour for everyone to leave, John had to go over the whole night three times and promise to talk more to his therapist. He took a shower, Mary's comment about work ringing in his ears from last night. He had been taking too much time off, he needed to commit more to it, to her.

New York.

God, New York. Did he even want to move across the pond? Truthfully, he had been putting it off for months. Now it was time to choose. He felt a hundred years older as he locked up Harry's place and went down to the street. He needed to go to work. He really needed to settle everything with Sherlock. He had to tell him. It was time to come to terms with it all. Time to just let it all out like his therapist had been urging him too. Sherlock. The reason why he had been putting moving off. He had thought the man was dead and didn't wish to leave the city that had so much of Sherlock in it. Sherlock would never leave London, and even if one day he amazingly did, he'd never leave Europe. No, he was alive and he'd still never leave London. John hesitated at the door, he needed to gather himself. Turning the door knob, he found it was open and he was greeted with Mrs. Hudson as she stepped out of her apartment. "Oh, John, how are you? We need to have lunch together soon. I don't think you want to see Sherlock today, he's in one of his moods, you know. I'm going out to the shop for a bit, should I get you anything?" John smiled thinly and said, "I'm okay Mrs. Hudson. But you should get Sherlock something he could eat tonight." She shook her head but smiled. "Something small I imagine. I'll see you later."

Slowly, he made his way upstairs. Sherlock was at his microscope, looking lost in another one of his experiments. John was tense and waited for a few moments. When Sherlock didn't acknowledge him, he shut the door, cleared his throat, and walked in front of him. "Sherlock, we need to talk. It's important." Sherlock glanced at him and turning his attention back to his experiment said, "Your things are on the couch." John stilled before turning slightly seeing a box full of his things. John could feel his heart start to quicken in anxiety. He clenched his jaw and said firmly, "Sherlock, this is what I'm talking about. Yes, I was planning on moving to New York-" \

Sherlock was immediately out of his seat, towering over him, his voice cold and loud, "Then leave John. If that is what you were planing with that woman, then just go." John rubbed his hands over his face and tried to clear his mind. He looked at Sherlock sternly and spoke loudly, "That was before you came back. You can't blame me for trying to get over it!" They were both silent for a moment and John tried not to see Sherlock rephrase that statement to, trying to get over Sherlock's death. Which was half true but didn't need saying. "Sherlock you knew what doing that would mean for me. You knew how it would affect me!" John tried to keep his voice down but it came out as a shout anyway.

Sherlock's eyes were cold and he amazingly started to laugh, it was a harsh one, when he spoke, slowly advancing, his eyes were ablaze, "Do you think, at all, how these past years affected me John? I never had a choice. I didn't want to leave London. I didn't want to leave my life, John. And I did not want to leave you." John was against the wall and clenching his hands trying to calm his racing heart. "I know! I know that Sherlock but it doesn't give you the right to mess with my life all over again! God, Mary was right about it all." John swallowed, sighing loudly. At the mention of Mary's name, Sherlock started walking toward the window in the living room. Turning, he said, "What I said is true John. It will remain so even if you move across the ocean. You'll crave the excitement, you'll crave the work." John walked towards him and was already shaking his head at Sherlock's last words. "I might have had small moments Sherlock, but I got over them." He stopped and took a breath, lowering his voice he said, "I haven't even decided to go or not. I love her Sherlock. It's not like the others, she's truly amazing. You two just don't know each other well enough." Sherlock looked away from him, then back and John tensed seeing something change over his friend, when he spoke it was harsh, almost cutting, "Leave! Get out! If you want to go then do it and stop pestering me about it!"

"Stop-Stop pestering you- Jesus Sherlock. I just told you I haven't decided-"

"Tell me John, why are staying? Why? You have an amazing girlfriend as you say, an excellent position waiting for you in New York. A true surgeon on the rise-"

"Sherlock, would you stop!"

"What are you holding onto John? You've made it clear that you can't move back, that you can't accompany me on cases as you used to. The hesitation is quite clear on your face, almost every time I ask! Harry is doing well, finally, I do think you could leave her without her having a complete breakdown!"

"Sherlock shut up!"

They were face to face and yelling, both were breathing fast and if John had been thinking rationally he'd have never done what he did. His voice was low, practically growling as he said, "I stay for you, you bloody idiot! And for you to even wonder why. God damn it, Sherlock!" Before Sherlock could react John reached up, took Sherlock's head and brought it down into a fiery kiss. The kiss was harsh and full of passion, anger and a fight for dominance. John took over, letting all of his emotions show. He needed Sherlock, he truly needed the man and it devastated him. Sherlock could feel John everywhere, his hands were hot and powerful, roaming hungrily over his back, his sides, into his hair. He couldn't stop a moan from sounding out as John invaded his mouth with expert finesse. His own body betrayed him in responding. His hands clung to John, his body pressed even more closer, wanting to feel more. Sherlock's mind went blank against his wishes, he needed to protest, he needed to stop. Stop. Stop. He moaned once more, lost in his need as John hurriedly, harshly, tore off his jacket.

John grunted as he moved from Sherlock's lips to his neck, his entire being on fire, his erection was rock hard. He felt Sherlock's hands tighten on his hair amazingly, as he tried his best to quickly undo his buttons, frustrated at not feeling more skin, he angrily tore at it, snapping some buttons in the process. Sherlock tried to protest, his hands going to to push John away when John bit his neck just hard enough to make Sherlock groan and buck against him, John groaned as he felt Sherlock's cock through their layers of clothes. John smiled, his tongue flicking out to smooth over the purple mark. "John," Sherlock pleaded, "John, stop." John kissed him again, holding Sherlock closer than possible, pressed flat against one another. Sherlock forgot what he had been saying, what he had wanted.

John could feel all the years of emotion build up in him. This wasn't going to be Sherlock's experiment, or a case. This was going to be them, as themselves. The taste of Sherlock's skin, of Sherlock's lips made John crave more, need all of it, all of him. He groaned as Sherlock tugged at his coat, John hurriedly shook it off, following with his sweater. Both of them panting, Sherlock's eyes were wide, his pupils blown and John grinned. "Sherlock..." John breathed. It was all he knew to say now. Grabbing the taller man, he pulled Sherlock to the floor roughly. On top, John held Sherlock's wrists down, on instinct Sherlock tried resist until John started kissing his neck again. Sucking slightly and then licking his way across Sherlock's collar bone. Sherlock let his head fall with a little thump as he bared his throat to John's mouth. Their breathing was ragged, loud and harsh, filled with slight hisses when John found a good spot.

He traced Sherlock's new scars, feeling them raised against his tongue. A long pink thin scar, looking surgical, ran across Sherlock's chest. Sherlock tensed as he traced it and then bucked against him, rubbing their hips together fantastically. John grabbed his thigh, squeezing, wanting him to stop and continue at the same time. He pushed down, letting his straining cock grind more harshly against Sherlock's. Sherlock's hands ran down his back and John arched slightly, not wanting to stop sucking on what looked like an old bullet wound scar on Sherlock's rib cage, only moving to nibble on a light pink nipple. John only stopped licking when Sherlock reached down and gripped on his ass painfully. He moaned, his eyes closing in pleasure and raised his head to see Sherlock looking ravished. His hair was everywhere, his eyes dark and wide, lips swollen. His cheeks and chest were flush, the rest of him as pale and perfect as porcelain. John really couldn't remember seeing anything so beautiful then Sherlock like this. He cupped Sherlock's face and whispered, "You are so beautiful," then he leaned down and kissed him.

They fought for dominance once more, and as with most times, John won, using his weight as his advantage. He lowered his hand and cupped Sherlock's erection, squeezing slightly making Sherlock gasp. He started a pace to which Sherlock eagerly followed. John groaned once more as Sherlock sucked his tongue. God, that man would drive a saint insane. He needed to feel more, he needed to taste more, all of him. Every part. When he reluctantly raised his head, Sherlock followed not wanted to stop the passionate kiss. John bit Sherlock's lower lip roughly and said quietly, "You're mine Sherlock. You're mine."

Quickly, he grabbed at Sherlock's trouser buttons and pulled down his pants. Luckily, he wasn't wearing any socks or shoes. For the first time John saw the scar on Sherlock's outer thigh and quickly ran his tongue over it. Then he ran his hands down Sherlock's thighs slowly. He had to take a few deep breaths to stop himself from ripping off the black boxer briefs and sink himself into Sherlock until they both collapsed from it. His hands were shaking with the effort to hold back as he ran his tongue on Sherlock's twitching inner thigh from knee to the edge of his pants. Finally, Sherlock raised his voice. It came out deep, husky and loud as he practically shouted, "For god's sake John!" After a shuddering breath, Sherlock managed to whisper, "Stop..."

John chucked and then licked Sherlock's dick through the fabric. Sherlock drew out a long moan and his hands immediately clutched John's hair tightly. He continued those delightful moans as John sucked the tip. Sherlock bucked a couple of times before John pressed his hips down. John eyes fluttered close as he heard Sherlock moan out his name repeatedly. When John tried to raise his head, Sherlock held him still and John nipped quickly at Sherlock's tip which caused him to gasp. John swallowed and tried to ignore his dry throat as he groaned out, "This will feel even better Sherlock." Swiftly, he hooked his fingers under the cloth and pulled them off seeing a jagged scar on his hip. Sherlock's dick was long and curved slightly upwards, already leaking pre-cum and John took a sharp breath before he grabbed the base and wrapped his mouth around the top, hollowing his cheeks. He didn't tease with licked or kissed but engulfed the length almost completely. If John had thought Sherlock loud before, it was nothing to the moan that came out then. He bobbed his head furiously, getting as much in as he could and Sherlock started withering beneath him, his moans and mewing sending jolts straight to John's dick, making him harder than he had ever imagined being. John moaned around Sherlock, the hand not holding onto Sherlock's jerking hips roamed up his pale chest. John looked up seeing Sherlock's eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open, and John closed his eyes trying to memorize that look and not orgasm right then. He was so close himself, he felt one slight movement might cause him to explode.

John groaned and place his fingers first in front of Sherlock, when he was too preoccupied to notice, John slipped them into his mouth. It only took a moment for Sherlock to get it and he started sucking and licking. He wished he still had lube in his old bedroom. He could feel Sherlock throbbing in his mouth, could feel he was close to the edge. He quickened his pace even more and took his fingers and placed them at his hole applying pressure without entering. He traced over it until he could hear Sherlock breathlessly beg, "John, please, please...God...John." He slowly placed a finger in, curving it and making sure he wasn't hurting him. Then he lost all sense. Sherlock was tight and warm and all John could think of was how it would feel to be inside him. He inserted another finger, fucking him fast, stretching him, Sherlock started moving against his fingers, his legs spreading further, tense, his hands tightened in John's hair and he knew Sherlock was just about to climax. His muscles clenched and his head threw back, John loved the sound Sherlock made, almost animistic. Once he swallowed, he licked the tip and pulled himself up to kiss Sherlock's amazing cheeks. John was panting, his cock twitching painfully. Rushing, he unzipped his pants, hissing slightly. He tried to get as much saliva on it as possible, knowing he'd have to go slow so not to hurt Sherlock. "Fuck Sherlock," John hissed as he lined himself up and started pushing in.

Sherlock's eyes once closed in bliss now snapped open, wide and beautiful. "John," Sherlock said loudly as John entered him slowly, his finger's dug into his back. John let his head drop to Sherlock's shoulder, taking deep breaths, trying not to move and yet feeling like he'd die if he didn't. Sherlock was tense beneath him, clutching him desperately, John couldn't tell if it was in pleasure or pain. After a few moments, Sherlock's wrapped his legs around him, his cock started getting hard again and John, wonderfully, started moving tortuously slow. Sherlock gasped when John found that spot and he couldn't stop himself from snapping his hips at a bit more harshly making Sherlock groan once more. Need was soaring through John, the heat was incredible and Sherlock was so tight, before long, John found him thrusting harder, faster, his body was out of his control. Sherlock was withering beneath him, meeting him with each harsh thrust, his moans becoming one long loud chant of John's name. "Fuck... Sherlock..."

John bit into Sherlock's shoulder to stop himself from practically screaming as he fucked Sherlock like a man possessed. His plan to go slow, to stretch it out, maybe even make it last for a good hour, went completely out the window. He wasn't thinking, only feeling the intense waves of need flow through him. That was until he turned his head and saw the table next to them. Looking into Sherlock's dark eyes, he slowed slightly. Sherlock's breathing was ragged, more than John had ever seen the man. He placed his forehead gently on his, trying to catch his own breath and breathed out, "Sherlock..." Sherlock blinked his eyes and John could see them focusing on him. "John...Stop...Please...God..." John's hand that had been gripping his thigh, tightened and brought them even closer. Sherlock moaned at the slight movement, his cock leaking pressed in between them. "Feel me inside you..." John couldn't help his flicker to the table and he licked the hollow of Sherlock's throat, tasting the sweat there. "Twice Sherlock... I'm not going to stop fucking you until you come twice. At least." He whispered in his ear with a nip and then started thrusting wildly. It didn't take much more for Sherlock to come undone. John froze as he felt Sherlock tighten around him. "Fuck!" He didn't know how he didn't come right then, his toes curled, but he kept thrusting, until he heard Sherlock sobbing, panting, gasping beneath him, begging for him to come.

John couldn't hold back much more, his own moans deep and growling. He couldn't think of anything but the heat and Sherlock. He grabbed Sherlock's cock and started pumping, still thrusting wildly. Soon, John couldn't hold back anymore, Sherlock was shaking underneath him and then they were climaxing together and John couldn't help but moan out, almost shouting, "Sherlock...I love you. God, I love you."

John threw back his head, feeling the blinding bliss as Sherlock tightened around him once more, twitching and clinging to him as if he'd die if he let go. John collapsed on Sherlock feeling all his energy disappear, it took a few moments to come back to himself from seeing nothing but white for a few moments. His breathing was just as uncontrolled as the man beneath him. Sherlock's body went limp, his arms and legs loosening. John felt himself soften and hated himself for pulling out, he had never felt that wonderful during sex. Never that complete, like he belonged completely to Sherlock. But when he raised his head, planning on kissing the last of their breath away, he saw Sherlock's face. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes still slightly unfocused. He was coated slightly with sweat but it was the tears that were falling from those amazing eyes that made him freeze. He looked down seeing his perfect skin marked by him and once he may have took pleasure in it, now it felt awful. He remembered then that Sherlock had told him to stop, repeatedly, his eyes had been wild.

Oh, God.

It when then he spotted the blood on himself, slight and smeared it made him turn cold. Fuck. And what he did next, he never had before. Not in twelve years of war, not in all his life. Only Sherlock could have made John do it. John really couldn't help it, he reacted.

He ran.

John didn't know where he went. He had rushed to put his clothes on and then he left Sherlock on the floor of their- his - living room. John felt sick with himself. Sherlock was his best friend, and now that was completely destroyed. Finished. He had- John stopped and sat down on the closest bench, trying to stop the anxiety attack from coming on. He put his head in his hands and took deep breathing, feeling his body start to shake. He needed some Valium, then he felt his leg give the strongest pain in months and cursed, his arm was bleeding slightly, his stitches came undone. He needed Valium now, mixed with some good old Oxy. His old dealer Chris had some but he knew by experience, he couldn't contact him so early in the morning.

Before he knew it, he was running toward the hospital planning on just taking a little. It wouldn't hurt, it wouldn't be that bad and he could forget, just for a moment. It was only when he bumped into someone, when he stopped, because the person he bumped into was his old mentor and a supervisor at St. Clara's. "John? Are you all right?" John blinked and let out a breath. "Patrick. Fine. I'm fine." Patrick frowned and said, "Actually I've been trying to get a hold of you. Do you mind if we talk?" John felt his anxiety fly up and he swallowed. God.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, trying to get his emotions to simmer, then he took some more deep breaths and clenched his hands. After a moments he nodded stiffly and said, "Sure." They ended up in Patrick's office and he got right down into it. "I know you're dealing with a lot right now. Sherlock Holmes and his cases with the police but we do need more reliable staff here John. You are the most talented surgeon I have seen in a long time. I am not going to say this officially but I know if you dedicated yourself completely, you could have the chief position for trauma in less than... I'd say, four years." Patrick looked kind, worried, but kind. "I also know you're planning on making the move across the pond. I'd hate to see you leave, but you could count on me and all the other doctors here for a recommendation."

John found himself leaning on his elbows, wincing inwardly, as he heard Sherlock's name so casually. He seriously started thinking about it. He could start over completely in New York. With Mary or without her, he could start again. Or he could stay here, in London, and truly become what had once wanted years ago. To become chief of trauma surgery. It had been a dream he thought he gave up on and now to have face him. He swallowed.

Either way, he knew his relationship with Sherlock was over. He felt sick.

"John. I know you have a lot going on right now, as I mentioned, but I need you to know there is a place here for you. We could benefit from you working here, you succeeding here. I need your commitment though." John thought about the one thing he truly needed, truly wanted. A black haired detective, with eyes as sharp as a scalpel, eyes that had been tearing up. He sighed loudly, now seeing Mary. Mary the woman he did love, the woman he had now cheated on. Mary, the woman who saved him, understood him, made him laugh and love again. 

Patrick looked at him, looking sorry for saying it, but it didn't stop him. "John, you need to choose."


	7. Deciding

Sherlock found himself on his living room floor. He blinked, quickly coming back to himself. Calming his breathing, he raised his head, taking in the silent flat. He sighed, letting his head drop, he closed his eyes. "Sherlock... you're so beautiful... Sherlock...Twice...Sherlock... I love you... God, I love you." He tried to block it from his mind. He tried furiously to delete the feeling of John on top of him, touching him, inside of him. His hands had been hot and large; rough, as they clung to him. His lips had been softer than before. The taste of him, of them mixed, was still on Sherlock's tongue. He sat up and hissed as a burning pain stabbed through him. He almost fell back in surprise but then let it pass over him. He had been in much worse pain over the past three years. When he was able to stand, he went straight for the bathroom to shower.

All the while, he cursed himself and John. God, why didn't he stop it? He mind no longer consumed by John had no problem in showing him it all over again, making him feel it once more. He lashed out and punched the wall right before he made the mistake of looking in the mirror. His hair was everywhere, his pupils were still dilated from desire. But it was the marks over him that made him pause. John had run his mouth over his chest, leaving hickeys and bite marks from collarbone to hip. His heart started to flutter as he remembered that mouth on him. Clenching the vanity, he looked down and saw John's hand print clearly defined on his thigh. He growled as his dick twitched. Sherlock shut his eyes, his mind flashing John in front of him and he angrily got into a shower wanting to rinse off everything that happened.

Two hours later, Sherlock was pacing, Mrs. Hudson was making them something to eat downstairs. He clutched his phone, not knowing what to do. John had left before Sherlock had been functioning again, he had just left. Yet he had told Sherlock he loved him. Was that heat of passion talking, was that what everyone meant? Did it even mean anything? They had been fighting about John moving, about him leaving. Was John still going to move? He halted in his pacing abruptly and turned to open up another nicotine patch and place it on his arm.

Sighing loudly, he flopped down on the couch and winced forgetting about his throbbing backside. John would call, wouldn't he? Or text? Even if it were just to apologize or maybe they'd just scrape this under the carpet? Maybe it would be something they just shouldn't talk about? Should he text him and say Mrs. Hudson was making a casserole and he wouldn't eat all of it? He hated John! He hated what he was doing to him! It was ridiculous! He wasn't some weak, pathetic, emotional person! He yelled trying to get it to delete. But he couldn't delete John. He didn't even want to. That was what upset him. John meant so much to him. Sherlock found himself for the first time in months praying he didn't ruin their relationship, praying what they had done didn't mean the end to their partnership. He could erase it, he swore, he could just ignore it. He shouldn't need him, he shouldn't want this. John could leave, what did he care? And yet that is what caused the whole thing. He had lashed out because he did care. He could picture it, had spent the entire night before picturing John in New York, with her, having children, getting married, living as a surgeon.

He hated it! He wanted to storm and rage, so he lashed out at John and John had-John had kissed him and it felt like Sherlock still had a place with him. A large place, it had felt good. And the sex... Sherlock clenched his jaw, his mind going back to his past experience. No one had gone down him before. No one had made him come undone like that before. Figures, he supposed, it would be with John. He found himself smiling at John saying, "Twice," he had been thinking about Miss. Adler. Thinking about her and getting jealous. Then his eyes widened as he started to recall more images.

Mrs. Hudson came upstairs, tray of food in hand and stopped, looking around she said, "Sherlock! What have you done to the place?" Sherlock looked around blankly seeing all the shattered objects and papers scattered around. He hadn't been able to concentrate on any of his experiments. "I got upset Mrs. Hudson." He tuned the rest of her rant out as he went over more images of John trying to predict how this was going to end. When Mrs. Hudson continued, he only caught the end, his heart startled, his eyes snapping open. "... John to ask if he wanted to join us." Sitting up quickly, ignoring another twinge, he startled her and he snapped, "What? You called him? What were his exact words Mrs. Hudson?" Putting a hand to her chest in surprise at his reaction, (he had in fact been ignoring her for several minutes now) she frowned at him and said, "He said, he was dealing with some things and that he wouldn't be around for a while." Sherlock was once again out of his seat and talking to himself, "Won't be around for a while? What does that mean? Will he come back soon or is he going to avoid me for weeks once more? God, John could be so frustrating!"

Mrs. Hudson looked up from where she was making Sherlock tea with his supper. "Did you two have another domestic? You two are having plenty of those recently. Is everything all right?" He turned to her forgetting she had been in the room. Sitting down he winced once more and then looked at a plate of food. John always loved Mrs. Hudson's cooking. "I'm not hungry." He ignored her once more as his mind went back to his ever present problem, John, and what he was going to do about him.

* * *

 

 

 

John sat down on his hotel bed. He had waited for Mary to come home, his bags packed, and had told her what he had done. He knew he couldn't go to New york, not with her, not after what he had done. He couldn't be with her after cheating on her. He needed to be honest. She had frozen when she heard him. He hadn't been able to look at her, he really did love her, and he said so. She had replied quietly, "Just not as much as you love him." When Mary said that, she had leaned down, put her face in her hands and started crying, she really hadn't believe he would do such a thing. Neither had he. It was an awful half hour before she had told him to leave, he had, and she stood in the living room not looking at him as he departed.

Patrick had told him to choose, it was the hardest thing he had ever done. Being a real surgeon again in the last fifteen months, he found himself loving it. Actually helping people, sewing them up, cutting, fixing the problem, it was wonderful and he had found purpose in it. He had to take more responsibility in the hospital, he had to take more time to master his craft, time without the world's only consulting detective. He didn't know what to do. He had completely ruined Sherlock and him. Could he give it all up and focus solely on becoming a surgeon? Would Sherlock even speak to him again? God, Sherlock could just delete it all away, was this something they were going to ignore? And John had gone and told him he loved him, after years of not saying it, had just blurted it out.

He sighed, flopping down. He had really made a mess of things, hadn't he?

Two weeks later, John was walking down familiar hallways, his eyes taking everything in, trying not to cause too much attention to himself, trying not to be spotted. When he walked into the room, he breathed a sigh of relief. She sat with her back to him but as she turned around he froze at her glare. "Oh no! No, no no no! John Hamish Watson I am not your therapist, you do not get to march in here every week to talk about your problems." He smiled at Molly, who he hadn't seen in some time and her shoulders dropped, "It is good to see you though. I've just been spending so much time with Sherlock and his moods lately that it's getting aggravating. I really am not your couples councillor." He shook his head, frowned and said, "I'm sorry. I suppose I'm used to coming to you over the last couple of years." She smiled looking a bit more like her nervous self. "Well, how are you doing?" He sighed loudly sitting next to man Molly was working on. "I quit my job."

Molly froze in the middle of writing something on her clipboard. "What?" He nodded, "I just quit. Went in, gave Patrick my resignation and in two weeks I will no longer be working as trauma surgeon at St. Clara's Hospital." Molly gaped at him but quickly recovered herself and asked, "Is this about you and Sherlock?" John closed his eyes. It was always about him and Sherlock, wasn't it? From the very first day it was John and Sherlock, someone wanting to know something about the man, they asked John. Where Sherlock was, what he was thinking, what he was doing; just ask John. John and Sherlock. Looking at Molly he said, "When is it never." Molly laughed.

"So what's going on?" He wanted to tell her, but he wasn't sure how. They had slept together? John had forced Sherlock? He was in love with the detective? He could no longer find passion in his work? Not even saving a man yesterday from a gunshot wound had given him the high that he got from running after Sherlock in the wee hours of the night, chasing after a criminal? He was thinking about leaving London for work in refugee camps somewhere far away? He settled for, "It's complicated. I'm trying to figure where I'm headed from here." She nodded, looking serious and said, "I understand that."

She started putting the corpse away, done now with her paperwork. "Heart failure?" He asked, helping her, seeing the chart. She nodded, closing the drawer, "Yes, actually...well... Sherlock is working on it. He seems to think Mr. MacGregor was poisoned. I'm waiting for test results." John nodded and tried not to think of him. He tried not to think that Sherlock was working this case and hadn't even texted him. Why would he, John thought to himself and stamped down the emotions that question tried to raise. "Coffee?" Molly asked, putting away her file. He nodded. John and her went up a floor to the cafeteria, here, they sat down and John relaxed. "You know I kind of miss Bart's. It was so easy, a lot less stress and part-time actually allowed me to have a life." Molly smiled. "You know if you apply, you'll get rehired within the day right?" John smiled but didn't answer her. He didn't know if coming back here would help him.

They were interrupted by a tall man. "Sorry," Both looked up and John couldn't help but smile behind his cup of coffee as he noticed the man couldn't take his eyes off Molly, "Sorry. I'm Tomas Fletcher, you asked for the test results for Mr. MacGregor." Molly sat up straight and said, "Yes. I thought they wouldn't be in until tomorrow." Tomas smiled and John instantly knew, as Tomas' eyes flickered to him unsure, John said, "Please sit down. My friend and I are just chatting." Tom sat down looking relieved, saying, "I might have put a rush on them. I know you deal with Sherlock Holmes and he tends to have murder cases, so I thought it would be good to help out." Molly smiled at him glancing nervously at John and back to Tom. They stared at each other for a good thirty seconds before John coughed. Tom jumped and said, "Oh yeah, um, he was definitely poisoned. We've got it under a tropical-" He was cut off by Molly's phone going off and she nodded, "Yeah, Sherlock just figured it out. Thank you, you were such a big help." Tomas smiled at her and John stood up, Molly's eyes widened as he said, "I'm going to go. Why don't you stay here and have lunch, I know you haven't eaten yet." Tomas immediately said, "You haven't, me neither. What do you like?"

John was just leaving the hospital when he received a text from Sherlock himself. **We need to speak. Rooftop. Now. SH** John swallowed, his heart rate speeding. Why was Sherlock on the roof? This blasted roof? He took a deep breath and ran for the elevator, then decided it took too long and went for the stairs. He couldn't help it when the door banged open. Sherlock was on the ledge and John's heart stopped, his breathing hitched. "What the fuck are you doing?" John yelled when he caught his breath. Sherlock turned and said, "I had to get you to talk to me somehow. You're being incredibly stubborn." John raised his hand motioning for him to come closer, edging closer to the man but staying away from the dreadful ledge. "Could you please get off the ledge? Right now!" John practically barked. Sherlock smiled and jumped down, walking towards him and the doorway. "No need to worry John. I will not be jumping off this roof any time in the near future." John grabbed his arm the second they were close enough and led him towards the door.

"What are you playing at?" Sherlock raised a brow, "I only wanted to talk with you John. I saw you in the cafeteria and wanted this conversation to be private." John took a few deep breaths and nodded, looking away he said, "I'm sorry. I am very sorry for what I did. I just-I just need you to know that." Sherlock raised a brow and said, "You're apologizing for us having sex?" John tensed, feeling anxious and said, "I'm apologizing for not stopping. For," he cleared his throat not looking at Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes widened and he cut John off, saying bluntly, "You think you took me by force? That you raped me?" At that Sherlock started laughing and John faced him, frowning, feeling like Sherlock wasn't taking this seriously. Then Sherlock's expression changed and he clearly looked offended. "John, I might not have served in the military but I do know how to defend myself. While you know tactical fighting skills, I have emerged myself in several fighting styles, three of which I have mastered to the point where if it came down to you forcing me to do anything against my will, I would be able to break two bones before you got in a punch able to knock me unconscious. Honestly, John, have you learned nothing from me?"

John just stood staring at Sherlock and then he let his shoulders fall with a sense of relief. Then he asked, "But you were well...sort of...crying. And you..you wanted me to stop." John cleared his throat and cast a sideways glance up at the detective. It was the first time John had ever seen Sherlock look embarrassed as he said quickly after a few moments of silence, "Oh for god's sake's John, I was overstimulated." They both glanced away from each other but Sherlock still caught John's smile, then John said slightly confused, "I just, I thought that you weren't interested in people." Sherlock got noticeably irritated and he started to pace, John could tell his mind was racing and when he did stop and look at him, Sherlock looked angry. "I'm not. I wasn't." Sherlock sighed and John knew if they were home, he'd be flopping down on the couch. "I didn't even consider it until recently. Now." John nodded. "Have you ever..." John stopped when Sherlock glared at him. "Tell me, you did not believe Mycroft when he claimed I was virginal?" Then Sherlock sighed loudly, turning in a circle. "Really, John?" John couldn't do anything but defend himself, "How am I supposed to know Sherlock?" "It's unimportant. Tell me how long you've been in love with me."

John froze, and Sherlock's eyes brightened. "I had a feeling when I jumped. You were too emotional about a simple friend dying." John was shaking his head and he barked out, "Stop. Don't talk about that." Sherlock then did stop but John could see the gears in his mind working and Sherlock asked the one thing John didn't want to hear, "Who was the man you fell in love with before me?" John let his eyes close and he leaned against the wall. He could feel Sherlock come close to him, invading his personal space and when he opened his eyes, Sherlock was right in front of him. "You had me fooled you know. I deduced you lost someone close to you the day we met, but after all of your statements of being straight, I truly did think you wouldn't stray from women. Tell me John, it isn't in any report, otherwise Mycroft would have found out." John took a deep breath and spoke slowly, the memories he realized while sharp, no longer caused much emotions when he thought about them. He smiled slightly at the realization, it was a relief and made him sad for it at the same time.

"His name was Erick King. We met the first day of my training and went to Africa. We fell in love and had a relationship for almost a year before he got out, he got wounded. He came to London and I had another two months to serve. That's it." Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "Don't lie John, it doesn't suit you. Tell me all of it." John glared at him and said, "You first." John took a deep breath when Sherlock remained silent and turned away from him, he saw another man, a younger one. John started again when he knew Sherlock wouldn't speak. "I didn't want to want him. I do fancy women Sherlock. I figured it was a war thing. It happens. But it got serious and we ended up making plans for when we were out. Two months before our contract was up he got shot. I was the one who saved his life." John blinked and then sat down, leaning against the wall. Sherlock took a few moments and then sat next to him. John stretched his legs not feeling any pain for the first time in weeks. "He went back and I wrote, I didn't get a response but I figured they got lost, or I didn't have his address right. Two months later, I went to London, went to his place," he sighed and said, "and I found his wife. I found his two year old daughter. He said, it was a war thing. That we were good but he loved his wife. London was too much after that, so instead of working at the hospital, I went back, figured I could make a career out of it. I heard they divorced. She caught him cheating one two many times. Last I heard, a few years ago he moved to Scotland." Sherlock rested his head back letting the new information sink in. "I'm sorry." John smiled and chuckled, "It was a long time ago."

Sherlock nodded, "It also explains some of your trust issues, especially if he was your first love. You always remember them, even if the memories aren't very pleasant." John nodded, "Your turn." Sherlock rolled his eyes and asked, "Are you moving back?" John swallowed, thinking about it. "Tell me Sherlock." He said instead. Sherlock huffed but surprisingly started speaking after trying once more to change the subject. Sherlock spoke almost detached from what he was saying, "Victor Trevor. I, being a difficult and stubborn child as I've been told, decided against my mother and brother, instead of going to Oxford, I spent my first year of university in Cambridge." "Course," John said smiling. Sherlock continued, "He was the only one who could get past my family connections and well, my personality." Sherlock stilled, remembering his teenage years. He swallowed and said, "I was seventeen when I entered university. I...I suppose I wanted to be popular, have friends. University was a way to start over, without Mycroft interfering, he was only starting his political career then. Victor became a close friend, then we became more. I wanted to please him, you know." Sherlock looked down, his voice quiet, "He was my first friend. I would have done almost anything for him, had he asked." Sherlock laughed, "And did he ever ask. Mostly for little things, tickets here, trips there. But while I might have caught on quicker had I not been emotionally involved, I still caught on. He admitted to not spending the money I gave him on his debts. Instead, he spent it on cocaine, I habit I knew he had, in fact, I used with him occasionally at parties, another reason I didn't catch on as quickly. I spent many of those days with my senses dulled." John was speechless.

Sherlock continued casually, "He ended up smearing my name greatly. Told the dean I had a habit of drugs. He also made his distaste known about my sexual performance quite publicly a party or two." John's stomach dropped at that but Sherlock didn't give him any time to reply to that bull. "It ended at the end of the year when he tried to claim I cheated on exams. I had a few other encounters, one night stands, women and men, all of it was when I was high, but it was the cocaine that he introduced me to that stayed with me. I used occasionally, everyone knew, it wasn't until graduate school when I dropped out, I had found heroine as well by then. I started injecting and it was a completely different high. Perfect. Mycroft found me in France when I was twenty-three and put me into rehab. I went back to Oxford, got my masters and then started working in London. It was boredom that was my downfall. I went back to ease the pain and then I met Greg. He was tracking an importer and I knew who he was. That's when I started working at Scotland Yard. It was only a few years later when Greg found out that I was bingeing that he and Mycroft both cornered me into rehab once again. I've been sober ever since, roughly. You should know John, I acted quite a bit back in those days. I wasn't myself, I tried to be different and the person Victor knew in Cambridge wasn't who I am." Sherlock cleared his throat and said, "So now that we've gone over our histories, tell me why you were in the hospital. I've behaved and haven't gotten the file from Mycroft."

John nodded saying seriously, "You need to know that I lost more than just Erick. While I was positioned as a doctor, I saw more action than most do." John tried to collect himself and said, "When I was twenty-five, three years after I re-enlisted, my station was blown up. We lost fifteen people, I was in the middle of it, broke a few ribs, it was nothing for me but for the others... I tried to help them but it was impossible. They burned and others were under rubble. I still hear their screams now and then. Two years after that I volunteered to go out with my friends and collect some of the wounded on the front lines. We were in heavy fire and I lost two medics before we even got there. The car got bombed, only three got out besides myself. Jack, my best friend died there. We had served beside each other the entire time, but I knew him since we were just boys." John swallowed and Sherlock waited patiently for him to start again. "And then there was Henry."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at his tone and he asked sharply, "Henry?" John tried to read Sherlock but couldn't and nodded. "Henry Alexander. God." John chuckled remembering him and rubbed a hand over his face before looking up to the sky. "Henry was a lad really. He was a good man, we were in Afghanistan and I was his supervisor. He was young and really everyone knew, even before I did. At first, I couldn't handle it, remembering Erick and what he did. But the more I shoved him away, the more he continued to pursue me. After a while," John laughed and Sherlock's eyes narrowed even more, "it was a very nice ego boost I have to say. Henry was twenty-two and I was thirty-one then. For six months he kept telling me, he was in love with me. And after a while, I ended up sewing him up from a stray bullet grazing him, I admitted to both of us that I had feelings for him. We hit it off, really well. I tried not to be too jaded but nothing really good had happened to me for some time and Henry was innocent, barely lived at all. He really had a light in him that just made everyone around him brighten. I was seriously considering going into a relationship and it scared me, I was too old for him. I pushed him away a lot. It was when we were on a patrol going to another camp that he called for me." Sherlock was looking ahead, staying silent but when John stopped, he turned and John could hear the slight intake of breath. He hurriedly calmed his expression and cleared his throat. "I remember being irritated. His tone was full of emotion. I was upset that he wouldn't let go. I was too old for him, too damaged. He was wasting his youth on me... When I turned, I could see it on his face. Terror. And immediately that's what I felt. It took only a second and I lost him." John put his hands on his eyes and finished, "He tripped a wire to a landmine accidentally and it blew me to the ground and he died instantly. Another two soldiers in the radius got wounded pretty bad but survived."

John got a hold of himself slowly and blinked clearing his eyes. "You dying Sherlock. That was just one thing out of many. My getting shot was just one instance which triggered years of PTSD. When you died," John looked at him and both were serious as John said, "When you died, so did I. I lost a piece of myself, telling me it was going to be okay. My leg got bad, my memories worse and I was prescribed some Valium." Sherlock's brows went up. "It went from Valium to Oxycontin and it got bad fast. Pills," John smiled at Sherlock and continued, "Always thought I'd end up like Harry as an alcoholic and don't get me wrong I drank too. Drank so much that I don't drink too often now. Then about six months after you died, I tried to commit suicide." Sherlock's hand snatched his and John squeezed it reassuringly. "I cut my femoral artery and it was Molly who saved my life. She tended to stop by a couple of times a week, even when I was too high to be proper company. I was addicted, addicted bad, most of the time I didn't even know what day it was. Anyway, Molly saved my life, she was right outside apparently, she got to me within twenty seconds and I was admitted to St. Clara's three days later into the Psychiatric Ward. That was where I met Mary, who was my doctor. Greg took my gun in case I'd attempt it again. It took me months to go off the pills. It was hard and I owe a lot to Greg, Mary and Molly for helping. Even Harry and I grew closer as I withdrew."

Sherlock stared at John intensely and before John knew it, he leaned in and kissed him. John cupped his face deepening the kiss. When they withdrew, John leaned his forehead against Sherlock's, "You confuse me Sherlock. I need to know what you want. Is this okay?" Sherlock leaned away and scrubbed a hand over his face. He stood and John kept his eyes on him. Pacing a bit, Sherlock turned and faced him. John stood and Sherlock spoke, "You have to understand. Emotions, they're not something I do John." John smiled but Sherlock was serious. "I was weak. I was pathetic. Back in University I tried, I truly tried to be normal, to live a life that normal people do. I learned fast John, a lifetime of people either being annoyed or disappointed with me taught me not to let them in. Somehow, you made me care. You made me want to be better. I let you in and I had to disappear for three years because of it. You made me weak and I can't do that again. I can't go through it again, John." John nodded, "Neither can I Sherlock." Sherlock stuffed his hands in his pockets and said slowly, "When I hunting them down, I...I lost a bit of myself as well. I became what Moriarty wanted me to become. I became him. I didn't try to get them imprisoned. I killed them. I was an assassin without even getting paid. I killed forty-seven people without any form of mercy. The only person I came into contact was Miss. Adler." John's eyes widened. "She's alive?"

Sherlock smirked and nodded, "While I appreciated your concern, I always knew she was alive. We met in Moscow by accident. She helped me a year ago, she was the one who contacted Mycroft and let him know I was alive. I knew you were jealous of her." At that Sherlock gave a small smile and John tried without success to hide his embarrassment. "Besides her, the only true contact I had was killing. I hated what you would think of me and my actions. You once called me a machine-" John winced and immediately tried to speak. Sherlock put up a hand and replied, "It's okay. You were right about me during the past three years, I didn't feel a thing. There was no emotion except for myself, wanting to go home, to go back. I hated Moriarty more everyday." Sherlock blinked rapidly, looking like he was holding back his own tears. "I scared myself John, at how far I could lower myself. He took everything I ever cared about and destroyed it. I let you lot in and I lost and now..." Sherlock turned, running his hands in his hair and his eyes welling up. "John, I'm going even farther, you're not just a friend now and I can't go there." He turned back to John who looked shattered, Sherlock let his hands fall back down and both men remain silent.

Finally, John spoke, "I understand Sherlock. I do. I know you better than anyone else. But I can't go back. I'm not like you, I can't just delete it. It happened and I want you as more than a friend. It's taken me years to come this far, to admit this, and I can't take it back." Sherlock once again asked, "How long? I've tried finding out the signs, the reactions, I can't." John smiled sadly and chuckled without any humour, "I don't really know. Sometime between Irene and the baskerville case I think, maybe before. I didn't want to acknowledge it, I didn't want to feel it. You are a hard man to fall in love with." He gave a deep breath, letting out everything. He had kept so much of it close for so long. He felt lighter as if maybe, now, finally, he could start acting, start moving on. John moved his leg slightly, it didn't hurt. After a few minutes of silence John looked back to Sherlock. "I'm going to leave London for a bit. I've been thinking about working at a refuge camp, probably in the East. It should be just enough stress for me." He smiled but when Sherlock didn't, he cleared his throat and nodded. "Right then. I should go."

"Don't."

John shut his eyes, his hands on the door knob, his back now to Sherlock. He heard Sherlock move, standing right behind him. Sherlock whispered, sounding unlike his normal calm self, now his voice was shaking, "John, I don't want to be alone again." His hand tightened on the handle and John replied, "I can't just be your mate Sherlock." "These last couple of years, what pulled me through was coming back, getting my reputation back and running around London with you." John turned, not hiding his distraught expression. He grabbed Sherlock's jacket and pulled him closer, Sherlock responded and they kissing once more, passionately, desperately, without holding back. Sherlock's hands wrapped in his hair, clutching tightly and John crushed the taller man to him. When they pulled back both were panting. "I need you." Sherlock blurted out, his lips swollen. "I don't want to," he continued, "I truly have warred against myself for the past couple of months John. I wanted you at Baker Street, I wanted your attention, your time, your thoughts. I needed you with me and you weren't and something was wrong with that." Sherlock spoke fast, stumbling over some words and John found himself smiling. Sherlock had an awful habit of making him happy one moment, depressed the next and angry a moment after that. He needed to get this all straight.

"Decide." John said firmly.

Sherlock stilled in his arms and John held his ground. He was too old to play games, he didn't want to be guessing where they stood. He didn't want them to be together and then have Sherlock ignore it. "We are either going to be together or not. You know what I want but that doesn't matter. What do you want Sherlock?" Sherlock stared at him, frowning and replied, "It's...It's not that simple John." John clenched his jaw but couldn't help pressing against Sherlock. "It is. You said earlier, you could look after yourself. You've killed, you've fought. I've seen the scars Sherlock. I've done the same, yes Moriarty used us against you. Used me. But he had a network, he couldn't be predicted and he's gone Sherlock. You're also forgetting something very important." Sherlock looked like he wanted to interrupt but John said, "I've chosen this. I chosen to be involved in the cases, I put myself in this position, every time I leave with you. I'm your backup, I'm the person that's supposed to help fake your suicide, I'm the person you tell." Sherlock shut his eyes and John remained silent letting Sherlock think.

John's heart hammered and he tried not to let his emotions show. He thought that there was a greater chance at him leaving London than staying but he tried not to think too much on it. Finally, Sherlock opened his eyes and John knew. After a few moments, Sherlock swallowed asked with a tone of worry, "So how do these relationships work exactly?" John startled. "What?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and spoke more like himself, "I can't lose you. I hate it but it's the truth. I'm not very accustomed to being intimate with someone John. Out of us two, you obviously have the more experience, therefore, I am depending on you to guide me through this." John couldn't help it, he grinned, his whole face lighting up.

Sherlock shook his head, "Stop that, it's not like this will be easy. I've been told by many reliable sources I am a very difficult man. That isn't going to change just because we will sleeping in the same bed." Sherlock then frowned, "We will be sleeping-" "Yes," John cut in laughing. Then John said with a chuckle, "We will be sleeping in the same bed. I will demand you pay a little more attention then you normally do, no, we will not have a routine or schedule for sex. It tends to get boring if you have a routine. I've tried. When working on cases we will be very professional and concentrate first on them. That I can give you. And you can't always push me away." Sherlock took a moment but nodded and then asked, "You've only had two male lovers besides me, am I correct?" John nodded and then he started to feel a little a concern as he saw the gears moving. "Have you always been dominate?" He swallowed and then nodded stiffly to which Sherlock grinned fully at. "Interesting." John did not like seeing Sherlock's mind start to race over that.

Over the next couple of months, there were ups and downs and many awkward moments. But John moved back to Baker street, Sherlock had his colleague back and if Sherlock went into Scotland Yard limping slightly from time to time, or if a hickey shown somewhat proudly on his neck, well Anderson and Donovan made sure everyone knew. To which, Sherlock would deduce something equally embarrassing about them and John stayed silent hiding his smile to everyone but Sherlock. They still fought, Sherlock was still annoying ninety-five percent of the time and John was still the idiot to him most of the time, except of course when he was brilliant. And if reporters asked them what attracted them to each other, well Sherlock was always quick with the answer, they simply had to be together.

In other words, life at Baker Street returned to, if slightly different, normal life once again.


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hoped you enjoyed it and thanks for all your comments!

Two years later.

Sherlock sighed again and John clenched his jaw in annoyance once more. "Sherlock, we agreed. This isn't something we can just skip out on." "Why does it have to be in the countryside? London has plenty of places for one to marry in." John batted Sherlock's hands away from the tie he trying to knot for him. Fixing it, John spoke, "Weddings tend to be a big deal for some people Sherlock. They can be fun if you let them." "It's Harry's second one, besides she marrying someone half her age, I don't think-" Sherlock stopped at the glare John sent him. "No insulting anyone today. No making grand statements of being bored, or talking about how many murders we're missing by being here. You can deduce whoever you want, whenever, as long as you only tell me." Sherlock rolled his eyes as John swept his hands over the silk suit, now finished with the ice blue tie. Sherlock looked too bloody good in suits. Then Sherlock's expression changed, his eyes narrowed and his lips curved into a predatory smile. "I can think of something we can do, John, that would be very enjoyable for the both of us." Sherlock's voice was more of a purr, as his hands slid up John's bare side's. He cursed not buttoning up his top earlier. Sherlock kissed him, slowly, lazily, yet so seductively that John had to force himself to backup. Over the past couple of years Sherlock had mastered the technique to seduce John, anywhere, at any time, which John found slightly frighting and all too arousing.

Taking a deep breath and watching Sherlock smirk at his reaction, he said, "Later. I am not going to be late for Harry's wedding. I'm the best man." Sherlock pouted adorably but didn't push the issue. John knew he'd regret it later, Sherlock hadn't taken at all long to figure out all of John's sensitive areas, categorizing every part of him, his reactions, his sounds. At first it intimidated him, the intensity Sherlock had in wanting to know everything about him. Then it worried him that Sherlock might become bored. Worried him enough that Sherlock had one day told him, that he found it astonishing he wasn't getting bored, that John had become instead something he craved, he needed. He reminded John in an apologetic voice, that he had an obsessive personality. John didn't mind at all. Sherlock needed John, in every way, sleeping and waking up entangled together, working, or just lounging on the sofa with a book and crap telly. Then there was of course Sherlock's curiosity, leading to research, leading to shameless sex, positions he hadn't even known about, that would have made even John blush had it been with anyone else. Nothing seemed to shame the detective, even after being caught in Scotland Yard, during working hours, to which John was still trying to recover from.

Sherlock was grinning at him as he held the door and John made sure to get those thoughts out of his head. "You look lovely, Olivia." Sherlock said as they walked into the foyer of the estate. She stood facing them, looking nervous, she smiled and John agreed. Olivia's hair was down, curled, but natural. Her white dress was flowing and fairy like. "Sherlock you are to come with me and Mary. John, Harry wants you to wait for her here. We don't want to see each other until right when we walk down the isle. And don't tell her anything about the dress." Sherlock was frowning as Mary came down the stairs glowing in a lovely shade of blue, with her mother who looked sharp and beautiful in a pencil skirt dress. The sister's hugged and Mary asked, "Did she explain-" "Yes, she did, thank you." Sherlock said formally, his hand on John's lower back. Mary nodded looking just as nervous as John but smiled warmly, "It's good to see you again." She sounded sincere and John nodded. "You look beautiful Mary." He smiled, feeling happy that they had both moved on. Sherlock was stoic, his back straight as he followed the family, after giving John a kiss on the cheek. John shook his head, smiling as Sherlock disappeared through the doorway. Sherlock had no need to be jealous, John was finally, perfectly, happy in every area of his life.

Harry came down the stairs and John felt a burst of brotherly pride as she smiled. Her skin and eyes were glowing, her hair long and gold. Her dress hugged her slight figure. She had, he admitted, never looked more beautiful. Her first wedding had been so different, in comparison, her alcoholism already rooted in her back then. "Well, ready to give me away?" John offered her his arm and said, "Completely."

The ceremony was small, located in the Estate's gardens. They were surrounded by roses, a hedge maze, and flowing fountains. It was made even more majestic by the weather, which was perfectly warm, without being overly hot. The sun was out and bright in a rare cloudless sky. Harry and Olivia's ceremony was simple and the pictures turned out fabulous, which surprised John, since he considered himself non-photogenic. Sherlock of course, disagreed. Finally, John sat down next to Sherlock who had been on his best behaviour for the last two and a half hours. "Would you prefer the fish or lamb?" Sherlock asked knowing John was famished. "Lamb." Sherlock answered for him. John smiled and asked, "Did you talk to Lestrade?" Sherlock nodded pointing to the man on the edge of the dance floor talking to Mycroft and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. They both inwardly winced as they saw the couple, John was happy Greg had found someone, but, did it have to be Mycroft? He had only just forgiven him for accidently helping Moriarty, when Greg announced their relationship to them, in Baker Street, a year ago ago.

Sherlock, his eyes narrowed, said, "Do you think if I faked my death again, they'd break up over the loss?" John snorted into his drink trying to keep a laugh in check. He responded with, "I don't know, sometimes couples get stronger with combined grief. We might be going to their wedding, once you come back to life." They chuckled again, both making faces at the thought, John stood with his plate. Sherlock joined him to the buffet. Mycroft and Sherlock had offered the Holmes Manor for this wedding and with it came the best staff. The food was all delicious, everything organized and on time.

"Seriously Sherlock," John said as he picked up some lamb and shrimp and a bit of everything so Sherlock could pick off his plate, "If I had known you could put all of this together I would have asked from the beginning." Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I hardly had anything to with it." That was true, John had to beg Harry to accept the offer when their original location fell through. They were walking back to their seats where Lestrade and Mycroft were sitting when Molly came up to them. "Hey." As usual Molly looked surprisingly good. Olivia had taken her in and given her a make over six months ago, Sherlock and John were both adjusting. In fact, so was Molly in the best way.

She smiled shyly and said, "So I've brought a date, I mean we're dating now. Officially. We've been together a few months now and we're getting serious, but well..." She turned towards him. John knew who it was before she pointed him out, he had met the man several times now, tall, good-looking and with an incredible sense of humour, Tom was nice. John liked him. "Do you mind?" She asked Sherlock and Sherlock smiled his eyes going intense, immediately sharpening on the brunette. "A forensic pathologist. Interesting. Works out a couple of hours a day. Knows how to use a gun. He saves a lot with money, like's to go on vacations, near water. Mediterranean? He likes to surf. Also, he's very much besotted with you." Molly blushed and nodded knowing all the information all ready, "But is he... okay?" Sherlock gave her a casual expression before he said, "You mean, is he an international criminal mastermind who happens to be gay?" Molly looked down and Sherlock continued, "Only thing is in his criminal past is a few speeding tickets." Molly looked up and grinned, Sherlock smiled back. John swallowed his bite of shrimp that he'd been eating during the conversation, amused at Molly's relief.

"How did you know about the parking tickets?" He asked as Molly practically glided up to her date. Sherlock held out his chair as he sat down and replied, "Mycroft and I did a very extensive background check on him." John almost choked on some of his vegetables, then slowly he shrugged and shoved some duck onto Sherlock's plate. Just when they were relaxing, talking to Lestrade and Mycroft, after the meal, in which Sherlock ate a full two plates, leaving John to wonder when the last time he saw the man eat was, Mary came up to them. "How are you two?" Sherlock responded by subtly putting a hand on John's thigh. John smiling, replied, "We're good. How are you doing?" Mary grinned, "Oh, New York has been great. I'm head of the psychiatric ward now." Behind her came a greying man, who looked very handsome. He looked familiar and John tried to place him and Mary smiled at them, "John, Sherlock, this is my fiancé Senator Marcus Blackwell." Marcus shook their hands and said, "Nice to meet you two. I heard a lot of your work." Telly. That's where John had seen him.

Sherlock relaxed visibly and John smiled, "You too. Fiancé huh?" Mary nodded, her hand going to her stomach, "The wedding will be within the month. I don't want to be huge in my wedding dress." John's brows went up in surprise and he felt Sherlock tense but John gave her a big smile and said happily, "I wish you three the best. Really," shaking Marcus's hand and giving Mary a hug. He glanced at Sherlock and said, "If you excuse us, we have to dance." Sherlock looked at him at the end of that statement, John grabbed his hand, squeezing it slightly to get him not to protest. "It's a wedding Sherlock. People dance." He said when they reached the dance floor.

Harry and Olivia had yet to get off it. Both laughing at something. John turned to Sherlock now feeling a bit flustered. Sherlock rolled his eyes and said, "Oh for god's sake." He pulled John towards him with one hand and put his other on his waist. _Great_ , John thought, _now I'm the girl_. "Now you know how I feel most of the time." Surprised, John frowned. "Not like that John. I don't mind. It's just frustrating that I never can get you to lose control." John laughed, his fingers twirling in Sherlock's hair at his collar. "You are so wrong about that. You're perfect Sherlock." Their faces were close together, and it was nothing for John to raise his face and Sherlock to lean down and kiss him. Like all their kisses it was wonderful, whether it was passionate and desperate or slow and gentle. Every time, John waited for it to not astound him that Sherlock Holmes was kissing him. It had yet to do so. John was smiling when Sherlock raised his head slowly. "

You know," Sherlock said later the night. They stood with the crowd looking up into the night, in a small clearing, waiting. "I really don't mind weddings. Not that much anyway. A lot of information going about. This one was good." John laughed. "You hate weddings Sherlock. That's not going to change." Sherlock grinned agreeing but continued now looking more sober, "Do you mind?" John turned to look at him fully. Sherlock was still looking away into the sky. "Do I mind what?" It took a moment for Sherlock to reply and John grew nervous seeing the signs. "That I took that from you. A family, a wedding. That sort of thing." John thought of Sherlock's jealousy of Mary, of many other random strangers in the past two years that had come up to him. He smiled at the thought, Sherlock was obsessive, he knew that from the beginning. John knew he was possessive and he, guiltily, loved it when Sherlock stormed off in a cab alone or slammed the door to their bedroom in a fit. It let him know how much he meant to the man beside him. And the make-up sex was always mind-blowing, fantastic.

John smiled and said, "Sherlock. I didn't give up anything. I was always on the fence about kids. I could live happily without them. But I can't do that with you." Sherlock finally looked down at him, his face lit up by soft fire lit torches and small fancy fire pits where they had all had smores and desert. "Do you ever think about marriage?" Sherlock asked quietly. John's brows went up, not expecting that. He cleared his throat and tried to collect his thoughts that had started racing. "I- I well..." He looked at Sherlock who was pointedly not looking at him, focused instead on the crowd around them, and John said, "It's wouldn't be anything big or anything like this. I mean all you really need is a paper. Weddings are different from marriage. Marriage, I mean, that's just doing taxes together." John winced at that but Sherlock was looking at him now, smiling, so he supposed he said something okay. "It's practical, I suppose." John's heart started pounding but Sherlock then said, "I couldn't picture it myself though." John laughed, he couldn't help it and Sherlock followed.

Truth be told, Scotland Yard referred to them as a married couple and Mrs. Hudson had always referred to them as married. In reality, their taxes would be the only thing to change in their relationship. Sherlock caught his eyes and said quietly, "Maybe one day though. Make it a morning thing and be done within a half hour. I know a judge or two that owes me a few favours."

John couldn't say or do anything more but kiss him.

It was a perfect end to an even perfect day. And neither noticed the start of the fireworks going off above them until the bangs made them jump and then laugh.


End file.
